


Cyrano

by storieaddict



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:32:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 55,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storieaddict/pseuds/storieaddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you've never read Cyrano deBergerac, here's the two second summary: guy wants girl but doesn't think he's worthy of her because of how he looks. He woos her through a friend, which (awfully) leads her falling in love with the friend.  Tragic--especially as she finds out in the end who the real word smith is, just before he dies... sniff. DONT WORRY, NO ONE DIES HERE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been housed on tumblr, but I'm hoping to reach a wider audience on AO3.
> 
> I met my husband (who reminds me a lot of Rumplestiltskin) on an internet dating site.... so I wondered, what if Gold tried to woo Belle through the internet?
> 
> I joined AO3 to get my fanfics out there. This is my first attempt--PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK! Constructive criticism is always welcome. :-)

 

Chapter 1

Belle sat at the counter of Granny’s diner and sighed heavily.  She sipped her second cup of strong coffee, traced nonsense patterns on the counter’s laminate, and brooded.  Brooding was not something at which she was particularly adept—Belle knew herself, and knew she was a chronic optimist—but today she was clinging to her dark mood as she thought about last night’s misadventure. 

                Ruby wiped down the counter and stared at Belle’s pale face and winced, “Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have bombarded you like that.” Ruby tossed back her poker-straight-hot-rod-red-streaked hair and shrugged, “It just seemed like you needed a little push.”

                “A push?” Belle blinked and shot Ruby an intense blue glare, “You call inviting me out, introducing me to a strange guy and then ditching me so we were obviously and pathetically set up (and doesn’t that make me look like a real loser) a push?” The venom in her own voice surprised her, but then Belle had been extremely embarrassed to be ambushed by someone she considered a real friend.

                “Oh, come on, Belle,” Ruby pleaded, “I really thought you would like Gary! He’s really hot, and really sociable—“

                “—and really glad to hear himself talk,” Belle cut her off.  Oh, everything Ruby said was true.  Gary had been an exceptional specimen of the male species.  He had a large fit build that made her curvaceous body feel slight and willowy. His hair was thick and dark and one could easily imagine running one’s hands through it. His eyes had been pleasantly brown, and he had the overall rugged features that women should want to swoon over.  And then he had opened his mouth and she had not gotten another word in all night.

                Ruby winced again, uncomfortably; “Yea, Gaston can be like that…” she trailed off and fussed with her apron.  It did nothing for Belle’s snippy mood to note that all the male patrons of Granny’s noted Ruby’s every movement in a way that indicated the diner’s coffee was not what they needed to perk up their day. Normally, Belle would have rolled her eyes and ignored the male population of Storybrooke as they had always been content to ignore her.  Today, though, their focus on Ruby was picking at her pride. “Was it really _that_ bad?” Ruby’s wheedled.

                The bell on the door of Granny’s chimed as another group of customers shuffled out of the cold in search of hot coffee and a hot breakfast. “Bad?” Belle whispered fiercely, remembering at the last moment that they had a whole room full of small-town busybodies who would just love to add grist to the gossip mill, “he talked about _sports_ , Ruby, _sports_!” Belle tossed her long mahogany curls in frustration, “Football, soccer (which he pretentiously called European football), hockey, baseball, lacrosse—he gave a damn dissertation on the subject of sports and never let me get a word in edgewise.”

                Ruby groaned sympathetically but couldn’t quite stop the teasing smile from spreading on her red lips, knowing how Belle loathed sports, “Oh, Belle, I’m so sorry!”

                Belle tried to glare at Ruby, but was utterly defeated in the attempt, Belle knew Ruby had just tried to help her poor dateless friend.  But, stars, Belle hated to be fixed up—it smacked of some inability to find a man.  And Belle could find a man, she told herself firmly, when she wanted one.  She just wasn’t interested in the boys of Storybrooke.

                “Sorry for what?” Mary Margaret inquired as she pulled off her hat and gloves.  She ran her fingers through her shot cap of black hair as Ruby slid her a cup of coffee.

                “Belle’s mad at me for setting her up with Gary,” Ruby confessed with a grin. 

                Mary Margaret wrinkled her nose at Belle while trying to picture her smooching the large sports nut. “Really?” she said in disbelief, “I just can’t see that.”

                “Tell me about it,” muttered Belle into her coffee.

XOXOXOXOX

                Mr. Gold would never consider himself a gossip.  Certainly one did not have to be a gossip-monger in the small town of Storybrooke to hear all the juicy details of most of the town’s inhabitants (both real and embellished as the speaker chose). One just had to quietly listen while taking morning tea at Granny’s.  He sat alone in the small booth near the counter and didn’t even consider himself an eavesdropper. But, as one who dealt primarily in the misfortune of others would be a fool not to keep the proverbial ear to the ground.  It was a lesson well learned that he should have all the information before he made most deals—magic or no magic—Gold was not a fool.

                _Well, maybe just a wee bit foolish_ , he thought with a good deal of self-mockery, _where Belle was concerned_.

                He had awoken in this new world, still having his memories because he created the curse, and nearly been knocked flat when he had seen her walk past his pawn shop and down to the town square and into the old library. In the perverse way of the curse he created, he knew that her “absence” had been explained as “going to college.” He also knew that she was the town librarian, that her name here was Belle French, and that they had never spoken to each other but knew of each other in the way that people know of each other in small towns.

Whenever he saw her walking around in this strange, cursed little town his heart would begin tripping erratically.  It took all of his considerable will power not to rush over to her, pull her into his embrace, and weep tears of love onto her lovely blue sundress.  He knew she did not remember him—the curse would never allow for that bit of happiness—and he didn’t wish to frighten her with a mad, crippled old man blubbering about undying love.  No, he hadn’t approached her (and it had made his teeth ache and his hands shake with longing to just stand there and watch her walk by) but he had started observing her.

It was merely _observation_ , he told himself, which led him to know that she liked to come to Granny’s in the morning for coffee and conversation with Ruby and Mary Margaret.  His _observational_ powers also told him that she always had exactly two cups of coffee, with a large dollop of cream and a tiny sprinkle of sugar. She always wore her hair down when she was happy—which, as near as he could tell, was most of the time. However, when she wore her hair in a braid, like today, she was in a foul mood and not inclined to put up with her own errant curls.  He also _observed_ that she had moved out of her father’s house—thank the bloody stars for that—and lived in the small apartment offered to the library’s caretaker, and that she was not currently seeing anyone.

He had also convinced himself that watching her through the big picture windows of the library was also merely to gather information on his wayward housekeeper. It wasn’t that his eyes were hungry for the sight of her, or that his breath caught whenever he saw her smile at a customer.  That damnable smile had been his undoing in their world—it lit up the whole damn county and made the object of the smile feel as though he was mighty indeed. When he had the Dark One’s power at his disposal, he had often fantasied about seeing Belle smile at him while he ran his hands over her lush curves, tangled his fingers in her thick curls, and watching that smile turn a little wild in a frenzy of passion as he whispered dark promises in her ear. Yet, while the curse was upon them, he only permitted himself to watch, and wait. He called himself a miserable, cowardly lech because he could not bring himself to talk to her.

While Gold had been lost in his musings, Emma Swan sauntered into Granny’s.  _Now there is a suspicious creature_ , he thought mildly when her eyes narrowed upon him.  She scanned the room for possible threats, and apparently he qualified.  He smiled sardonically at her and dipped his head in acknowledgment.  Emma nodded briskly before turning to the counter to join the other ladies.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Emma took in all Granny’s customers—it was difficult to think of the group as regulars when this was the only real restaurant in town, so where else would people choose to go? The diner was doing steady business, but that Mr. Gold was sitting alone and unnoticed in the small booth near the counter seemed to surprise her. How did the most powerful man in town manage to go unnoticed?  He practically generated his own magnetism—like a predator one should keep her eyes on unless she wishes to be bitten. 

Emma shook off the creepy feeling as she slid next to Mary Margaret and Belle at the counter.  She listened patiently as belle bemoaned her latest dating disaster. Emma sniggered, “Where do you meet these guys?”

Ruby glanced guiltily at Belle, “that would be my fault.”

“No, not really,” Belle said with a wry smile, “it’s not like there are many dating options in Storybrooke.  And really, the only people who want to date the librarian have this fantasy about the sexy librarian scolding them for overdue library books.”

Emma could have sworn she heard Gold choke on his tea, and couldn’t really blame him.  Belle French was not known for her lascivious thinking, and it amused Emma to see the little librarian unbend enough to show her disgust. “It sounds like you need a way to broaden your search,” Emma mused aloud. She turned to expand upon her plan when she saw the three girls staring at her.  “You know, a way to meet like-minded people…”

Belle snorted, “What shall I do? Wish on a star? Make a deal with the devil?

“You’re the one who has been fighting so hard to update the computers in the library,” Emma pointed out, “why don’t you use them?”  Emma was referring to Belle’s most recent scheme to get more patrons at the library—a computer wing.  So far she had raised enough money to install seven new computers, including the laptop for her office, and a large scale printer.  Ushering the library into the 21st century had taken a great deal of campaigning on her part, but the library was thriving because of her efforts.

However, Belle, Mary Margaret and Ruby still seemed confused as to what Emma was referring. They looked at each other before turning back to Emma with their eyebrows raised in confusion.  _Really? I have to spell it out for them?_ Emma groaned inwardly.  “What about internet dating sites?”

Belle felt the color start to creep up her neck and stain her cheeks when she realized what Emma was suggesting, “What about them?”

“Well, they’re definitely a new direction,” Emma stated matter-of-factly.

Belle could feel her flush deepen and looked to Ruby or Mary Margaret for assistance.  She couldn’t join an online dating site… could she? To her surprise, both of her friends were regarding her with something like interest.  They were _intrigued_ by this idea!  “You can’t be serious,” Belle yelped, “I’m not that desperate—I’m still young--“ she ran out of arguments on a gulp.

“Honey,” Ruby said quietly taking Belle’s hand across the counter, “no one is saying you’re desperate—we just want you to be happy. You never used to mind that you didn’t date anyone, but recently, you’ve been looking for a relationship, so maybe this is another option for you to consider.”

Belle gaped at Ruby.  Sure, it was true that Belle never used to date anyone—not that anyone had really asked—but she hadn’t wanted a relationship then.  The girls she went to college with used to tease her that she would never date anyone because she was in love with Austin’s prideful Mr. Darcy or Bronte’s dashing Mr. Rochester. She couldn’t help but admit that she wanted a powerful man who knew his own mind, but what Belle wanted wasn’t the bloodless text on a page, she wanted the passion whispered about in literature, and she couldn’t see the point in wasting her time on oafs like Gary who were only passionate about sports.

“Isn’t there a statistic somewhere that says 1 in 5 relationships now begin online?” asked Mary Margaret, ever the teacher.

“Yea, I’ve heard that!” Ruby said gaining enthusiasm.

“Can you really get to know someone through a machine? I mean isn’t that a little impersonal?” Belle asked grudgingly warming to the subject.

“Why not?” asked Mary Margaret, “People used to write letters back in the day to get acquainted, right?”

“Besides,” reasoned Emma, “the internet allows you to think before you speak. It makes people brave because you don’t have to speak to someone in person. You can put your best foot forward, you know?”

“But does that mean people… misrepresent themselves?” Belle wondered.

Everyone knew about Emma’s lie-detecting-super-power, and that she had been a bail bonds person before she came to Storybrooke.  If anyone would know about life outside of town, it would be her. “Eh, you get your typical weirdos,” she shrugged, “but more people are surprisingly honest—they use the website as a way to meet people that they typically wouldn’t, so it’s not something to take lightly.”

“Huh,” Belle mused, “well it would certainly give me… options.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Gold’s hands trembled as he delicately set down his teacup.  If he gripped it any tighter, he feared he would shatter the cup and draw unnecessary attention to himself.  He left a twenty on the table, an extremely generous tip for Ruby, and slipped out of Granny’s before he lost control.

_It makes people brave,_ Emma’s cavalier comment was swirling over and over through his mind. He heard it repeating in the rhythm of his awkward shuffle down the sidewalk on the way to his pawn shop.  _It makes—peo-ple—bra-ve—It makes—peo-ple—bra-ve…_

Rumplestiltskin, who was now Mr. Gold, was a coward.  He had sought the Dark One’s power to change his son’s life because he had been so afraid he was powerless. Then, even when that power had lost him Bae, and some marvelously wicked twist of fate had allowed Belle to love him, he was so afraid to lose that power that he had thrown her out of his house. Darkness and fear had ruled his life as long as he could remember—and he could remember centuries.

He pondered his choices as he unlocked his pawn shop.  He limped through the gloom, breathing in the comforting scent of dust and age and precious objects.  Gold had convinced himself that he had stayed away from Belle for her protection—the curse would never allow them to be together. Yet, if he was honest with himself, he was terrified that if Belle got to know him without the magic and mystery of The Dark One she would never love him; after all, his Belle had first come with Rumplestiltskin because it was the brave thing to do. He was old, he was crippled, and though he might be the same person underneath, would she want him without that thrill of danger to spice the relationship? Perhaps his only choice was to continue to ache as he watched her, remember the softness of her lips, and wonder what sounds she might make if he snatched her out of her librarian’s chair and ravished her mouth his tongue.

_Then again_ , another part of him whispered, _if she had the chance to know me without knowing who I really am…._

The thought was interrupted by chime of the bell announcing a visitor to his shop.  Gold turned, a pain in his leg throbbing and faced the customer with an expression between a polite smile and a pained grimace. When he saw who was at the door, blinking to adjust to the shop’s dimness, he had to grab onto the counter for support. As if his thoughts had conjured her, Belle French walked smiling into Gold’s shop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you like/dislike, let me know!

Chapter 2

Belle felt so much better after having her girl-talk time at Granny’s that morning.  She tossed the long braid over her shoulder and adjusted the strap to her large purse (large enough for two books and her wallet). She shook her head at herself. Honestly, what was the point in getting so worked up over one bad date—and maybe Emma had a point.  Belle needed to put herself out there.  She needed to communicate what she wanted, and what better way than through the written word?

Belle appreciated the weight of the written word.  The craft involved in getting ideas down onto paper, choosing just the right word, and emphasizing the perfect theme, was as close to magic craft as she had ever known.  To put what she wanted in a man in writing—it was daunting and yet appropriate.  After all, if she couldn’t write down what she wanted, then maybe she didn’t really know what she wanted.  If nothing else, this little internet exploit was going to be a soul-searching event.

Maybe what she needed was a little inspiration, she considered as she wandered toward the library.  She wasn’t supposed to open for another 45 minutes, and she was caught up with paperwork.  She had thought she would spend that time curled up with the newest bestseller (the librarian should be keep up with her reading), but now she considered a different option. 

It was an option she had briefly considered, but never had the daring to attempt before today.  She giggled a little nervously.  She wondered what people would think, what they would say, as she made her way to Mr. Gold’s pawn shop before she lost her nerve.  She knew what she wanted, and she was about to act upon it.

When the door clanged open, and she stepped into the darkness, she had to blink to adjust to the dimness in the shop.  As her vision cleared, she spotted Mr. Gold, leaning heavily on his cane, behind the counter.  She smiled at him, but the expression on his face was not exactly inviting. “Good morning, Mr. Gold,” Belle greeted him.

Gold’s memory flashed back and forth between Rumplestiltskin’s land and his own. Belle, standing in gloomy lighting, looking fresh as a damn daisy, smiling _that_ smile, and saying “Good morning,” as though she really believed it was one.  Even that _this_ Belle wore a plum colored cardigan over a flowery A-line dress instead of the plain blue she favored at the castle did nothing to distinguish the images in his brain.  Stars above, he wanted nothing more than to wind that braid around his hand and pull her against him so he could breathe her scent.

“Uh,” Belle raised one eyebrow, and took a faltering step back, “I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”

Gold shook himself, and focused on the here and now, “Sorry, dearie, where are my manners?” He hobbled out from behind the counter and waved an expressive hand, “Good morning, Miss French, what can I do for the town librarian?”

Belle would have wondered how he knew her name, except that this was Storybrooke, and everyone seemed to know everyone here.  She did wonder at the unexpected twinge she felt in her belly when he said her name.  Belle smiled again, a little slower this time, “I find myself in need of your expertise.”

“Oh?” Gold inquired, lifting his own eyebrow. _Isn’t this interesting?_

“Yes,” Belle murmured and bit her bottom lip in excitement as she started toward him. Gold had a very hard time not looking at that lip caught between her teeth—he wanted, very much, to squeeze that lip between his own teeth and see how it tasted. But he forced his eyes to meet hers, muddy hazel to startling blue, as she said, “I want a desk for my office.”

“Beg pardon?” Gold stuttered as her words finally managed to penetrate his grey matter.

“I have a little extra money left from the library’s fundraising…” she began, “I really _should_ use it for another computer, but the ones we have are more than enough….”

“And so our dear town librarian would use the good people’s charity to lavish herself in office furniture?” Gold’s tone was teasing and condemning at the same time.

Belle sputtered, “No! It’s not like that—I” she broke off as she tried to think of a way to explain. “I’ve been working off of a card table and a folding chair!  They’re serviceable,” she grouched, “but they’re not especially comfortable when I have a long night of paperwork.” She sighed and looked away from him, incredibly embarrassed that she felt the need to explain herself, “Look, I would go to one of those quick-fix furniture stores if I thought they had quality merchandise, but they don’t.”  Belle met his amused look with a defiant lift of her chin, “I want something that has _personality_ and something that won’t break if I’m clumsy.”

Gold took one halting step forward, “And do you have a tendency toward destruction, Miss French?” His mind wandered to the chipped cup that rested in a place of honor in his home. 

Belle sucked in her breath, he was awfully close, but strangely it didn’t bother her.  She found she enjoyed this man’s challenging nature, and she decided to let him know she wasn’t afraid of him, “only when something gets in my way,” she quipped.

Gold threw his head back a barked a laugh that broke the strange tension between them, “Well, Miss French, aren’t you the brave one?”

“It’s been said,” she replied with a smile. 

Gold found himself delighted with this incarnation of Belle.  This wasn’t the brave, but subdued caretaker he had known. He studied her as he leaned both hands forward on his cane, “Well, dearie, if you’ve come to spend the town’s money on your bit of mischief, I believe I would be happy to assist you.”

Belle’s smile deepened, “Excellent.”

Gold’s face turned thoughtful, “I think I have something in stock that will do,” he  decided.  He turned and shuffled off toward the back room.  “Coming, dearie?” he asked over his shoulder.

Belle swallowed trying to clear her throat, _stars, what is wrong with me?_ She nodded and followed in Gold’s wake.  He led her to the back room and then walked over to a door in the corner she wouldn’t have noticed at first glance.

“This leads to the basement,” he explained, taking a key from his pocket and unlocking the ponderous-looking dead bolt. “I find it useful for housing larger objects that aren’t quite suitable for sale…yet,” he added absentmindedly. He paused to grab the pull chain for a bare bulb; the swinging light cast garish shadows on the mysterious depths of the basement.

Belle found herself huddling closer to Gold as she followed him down the stairs.  Her imagination, over-active at the best of times, glimpsed hulking beasts and threatening forms in the shadows. Unfortunately, when Gold stopped abruptly, Belle walked right into his back. Gold let out a startled “oof,” and Belle jerked herself away from him with a gasp, afraid for a moment that she had knocked him off balance. Of course, this meant she over-balanced herself and was about to fall back and probably knock herself senseless on some random piece of paraphernalia when Gold’s arm snaked behind her back and steadied her.

Gold’s normally neutral expression was somewhere between baffled and irritated. Belle was very close to him, closer than they’d been up in the shop.  She wondered why it didn’t feel like an intrusion into her personal space down here in his dungeon.  Instead of being uncomfortable, she was surprisingly soothed that he gripped her so steadily. A little giddy at the rush of adrenaline from her near-fall, she giggled, “I’m sorry,” she nearly snorted, “I told you I was clumsy.”

She was so close to him that Gold could feel her breath on his face when she laughed. It did horribly uncomfortable things to his insides. She thought this was _funny_? “You’re a bloody danger to yourself and others, Miss French,” he rasped tightly.

Belle winced, “sorry, but I did warn you…”

Mr. Gold smiled in spite of himself, “So you did.” He gestured to a piece of larger furniture in the corner, “As it happens, I believe that desk would be quite suitable to your needs—dangerous as you are.”

Belle approached the desk slowly, taking in the design.  It was not the monstrous piece of furniture she had expected.  Instead, it looked rather delicate.  It was obviously an antique lady’s writing desk, complete with scroll top and intricately carved roses covering the sides and legs. In the dim light she couldn’t make out the color of the wood, but she got the impression of warm tones and sharp edges dulled from long use. It was a stunning piece, and she was sure worth far more than she could afford, but Belle could see herself spending long hours wrestling paperwork or composing appropriate correspondence there. “Oh,” she breathed as she ran her hands over the antique, “it’s so beautiful…”

“Yes it is,” Gold agreed, though Belle didn’t notice he wasn’t looking at the desk.  He was staring at her, using her distraction to _observe_ her up close and let his mind take this picture for later.

“But it’s so… I mean, do you think it’s sturdy enough for me?” Belle asked, still looking at the desk.  Without warning she felt herself spun and hoisted upon the flat surface of the desk.  Stunned, she turned round eyes on Mr. Gold.  For a man who walked with a cane, he was deceptively strong if he could throw her around with such ease—and why did that make her blush?

“Seems sturdy enough,” Gold remarked carelessly, looking pointedly casual despite the fact that he nearly assaulted her.

Belle couldn’t help the full-throated laugh that escaped her—she was delighted, and wouldn’t pretend otherwise, “Oh I _want_ it,” she declared, beaming at Mr. Gold. “I don’t care if I have to live off Ramon noodles for weeks, I’ll take it!”

Mr. Gold’s lips quirked in response, “I can have it cleaned up and delivered to the library by the end of the business week.”

“Wonderful!” Belle gushed, and jumped off the desk.  “Oh, I can’t wait to rearrange my office!” She spun in a little impromptu happy dance.

Mr. Gold just smiled quietly as they walked back up the stairs and into his shop.  Belle put down a healthy deposit, only wincing slightly at the price, and left practically skipping down the street. His shop seemed gloomy and depressing without her shining smile.  He turned his head and caught a whiff of her on the lapel of his jacket.  Her perfume must have transferred when he had boosted her onto the desk.  He inhaled the scent of sweetness and fine womanly musk—warm and seductive—and cursed himself a damned fool.  He went about cleaning up her damn desk and arranging for its damned delivery with her smell making him dizzy all day. Damnit. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Belle was so rejuvenated by her trip to the pawn shop that she was a bundle of positive energy at the library.  She cataloged with a smile, restocked returned books while humming, and danced around as she dusted the shelves.  Her employees—well, volunteers really—looked at her a bit askance, but Belle didn’t mind, she just turned up the wattage of her smile and they were helpless but to smile back.  After all, a happy boss (if an odd one) didn’t hurt morale.

The library was doing brisk business that day.  She especially liked helping two young boys find books they needed for a school project—and guiding them while in the computer wing as well.  She also dropped a graphic novel on top of their pile of books and papers, “For later,” she wagged a finger at them as she helped them out the door.

“That was very kind of you,” called a soft voice from the corner of library.  Belle turned to see Dr. Archie Hopper sitting calmly in one of the reading nooks she had set up with cozy chairs and a spacious coffee table.

Belle shrugged, “I’m just doing my job.”

Archie smiled, “Not every librarian would encourage children to read comic books,” he pointed out.

“Graphic novels,” Belle corrected defensively, lifting her nose in the air a little, “and why not? As long as they’re reading—“

“Oh no,” Archie interrupted, holding his hands up in surrender, “I quite agree with you.  I’m just surprised that you would encourage it, that’s all.”

Belle laughed, “Well, I’ll admit I have a long-standing love affair with the classics,” she confided. “However, I think the comic book is the new epic story. And look how popular _The Odyssey_ and _The Iliad_ still are! I mean, you’ve got heroes, impossible dangers, heart-wrenching love stories—what’s not to like?  Comic books just happen to couch their epic tales in some really incredible art work,” she pointed out.  “If I’m going to keep these library doors open, I need lifelong readers, and the only way to become a lifelong reader is to experiment.  You’ve got to try a little of everything before you know what you like,” she smiled again.

“Well, I’m convinced,” Archie blushed.  “So, what would you recommend for me?”

Belle took on the new challenge with gusto, and soon had Dr. Hopper walking out of the library with a collection of Sherlock Holmes and a new historical thriller that had been on best seller list for six weeks. Noticing the time, she quickly locked up behind him.  Where had the day gone?

She turned off the lights to the main section and headed toward her office.  She flicked on the light and stared at the depressing arrangement of furniture she had dealt with since opening the library.  The card table was wobbly and scratched, her folding chair squeaked horribly, and the only other piece of furniture was a utilitarian filing cabinet.  Though this room was supposed to be her home away from home, she spent most of her day in the library with its warm colors and the scent of printed pages in the air. She decided to change the overall awfulness of her office as soon as her new furniture arrived. She unlocked the filing cabinet to retrieve her purse, and stopped when her eyes found the snappy little laptop computer. 

The computer was for both her work and personal use, and it was a lovely little machine—all shiny and slick with the efficiency of technology.  She appreciated its sleekness and its convenience (she really liked to take it to Granny’s on the weekends to ponder what selections she should acquire for the library—and shop online because, well, girls shop) but she mainly kept it locked the cabinet so no one would be tempted to walk away with her little treasure. 

She knew if she was going to take the girls’ advice from this morning she would need to take the laptop home with her and use it.  She hesitated.  Belle twisted the tip of her braid around her finger; did she really want to do this? _You’ve got to try a little bit of everything,_ her words from earlier came back to haunt her, _before you know what you like._

Belle sighed, _Well, no one can call me a hypocrite,_ she thought. She removed the two books she normally carried around with her and carefully tucked the laptop inside. 

After carefully locking up for the night and dismissing the volunteers, Belle walked home quickly.  Now that she had decided to go through this with mad scheme, she was almost eager to begin. Her apartment was only a short walk away from the library—though everything in Storybrooke was really just a short walk away. She rushed up the front steps of the small house that had several small apartments in it.

The apartment was small, no doubt about that, but she didn’t need much space.  Plus, her favorite part of the apartment was the plush window seat that looked out over Storybrooke.  Getting comfortable in her favorite pajamas, Belle took down her hair, running her nails over her strained scalp and stretched.  Centering her mind on the task at hand, she booted up her computer and began researching several online dating sites.

A few sites offered suggestions for writing an eye-catching profile that she filed away for later.  A few sites suggested that if one took the site’s compatibility quiz, the site would create the appropriate profile—Belle didn’t like that option, she controlled her own fate, thank you. The site she finally settled on didn’t promise true love or even romance.  It promised that the subscriber would meet new people—people whom she could then converse with online until she felt comfortable enough to meet with them.  That seemed fairly straight forward to Belle—no shady promises or half-truths lurking beneath the surface of the publicity.

Before her common sense decided to lecture her on the embarrassing amount of money she was spending that day, Belle grabbed her one credit card and subscribed to last website.  Releasing her breath in a rush, she began the labor-intensive process of trying to choose the appropriate wording to describe herself.  She didn’t consider herself boring, but saying that one was the librarian in a small town was not exactly scintillating writing material.

_My name is Belle.  I know I should probably go by an alias until we get to know each other, but I just couldn’t decide on one.  As any lover of tales can tell you, names have power. Well, I choose to own my power and tell you my real name. Honesty is very important to me. I feel like we should begin with honesty, don’t you?_

Belle wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be directly addressing her audience like this—but then, if she was supposed to be introducing herself, she felt like she should be personal.  She spent two long hours working on the profile until she just couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore.  With a huge yawn and a stretch, she shut the lid of her computer, switched off her light and crawled into bed.

XOXOXOXOXOXXOXOXOXOX

Gold considered himself a reasonable person.  He was a man who was very careful in every deal he worded, and every contract that he entered into was examined from every angle.  That was part of the reason he had very little patience for the people who tried to welsh on deals they had struck with him.  They always came to him for help, and he usually helped them, but then there they continually disappointed him. When someone made a deal with Mr. Gold, he was always very clear in his terms and his conditions—everyone he dealt with did it with open eyes.

It was the wheeling and dealing that he was seeing to tonight which brought him out in the street in the first place.  He had rents to collect, properties to oversee, lives to manage.  He certainly was _not_ standing out in the dead cold of night because of her.  It _wasn’t_ like he had been tormented by her earthy scent all day and now he was afraid what he might dream if he laid his head down to rest. Yet, he found himself standing in the alley beside Granny’s diner staring up at her apartment window. 

Her hair was down now; the soft curls more wavy because they spent all day confined in that dignified braid. Gold wondered if it would easier to slide his hands through her hair or simply let his hands get hopelessly tangled in the mahogany silk of it as he crushed her mouth under his.

 Damn, he could smell her again. He had taken off his suit jacket, changed his clothes, and showered, but the smell of her skin was driving him mad.

He couldn’t see her face from his angle on the ground, but he would bet a pretty penny that her brow was scrunched in concentration—just as it did when she used to read a rather difficult tome back in Dark Castle. He could just make out the outline of her adorable pajamas.  And they were adorable, fluffy flannel and smooth cotton with nonsense printed on them.  If she were coming to his bed, he would want her in silk and lace—and that was absolutely _not_ why he was here. 

After she had visited him at the shop, he couldn’t think straight.  Even though he hadn’t done any dealing that day, his mind was not on his work.  That was unacceptable. He needed a way to continue communicating with her beyond her silly office furniture.  Though the thrill of power he gotten by hoisting her up on that desk had been the highlight of his month (maybe his year)—pressing her curvy little body to his, feeling her warmth through his suit, and the last minute restraint that hadn’t allowed him to lean over and nibble on her ear. He damn well wasn’t willing to give her up—selfish creature that he was—not again. 

The conversation he had overheard this morning at Granny’s gave him a feeling suspiciously like… hope. He had chosen this spot beside Granny’s because he could vaguely see what was transpiring on her computer screen—and that wasn’t stalking, it was… _reconnaissance_. He needed this information to see his plan though, and maybe he could focus on work again.

“Finally!” he hissed through his teeth.  He watched her put her information onto the computer and sign up for one of the sights.  Though he couldn’t see the name of the website, it had a distinctive rose emblem across the top of the screen—something he could easily recognize when he came across it later. Mission accomplished. He should go. 

But he stayed. He watched long enough to see her stretch—and damn if that cotton top didn’t stretch appealing across her chest—and see the lights go out in her room.  He stayed and he wondered if she dreamed of true love… and if that dream included scaly skin and a high-pitched giggle. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Belle strolled into Granny’s wearing her confidence dress.  It was a just-above-knee-length-cherry-red sleeveless dress that showed off her curvy figure.  She knew she looked amazing in it, and she wore it today because she felt amazing. Belle managed to make it professional with a black cardigan with three quarter sleeves and black stilettoes (her rational mind screamed that the shoes would be killing her by the end of the day, and like every woman who saw her legs in a pair of stilettoes, she didn’t listen). 

If Mary Margaret didn’t know better—and clearly she didn’t—she would have sworn that Belle was sashaying into the diner.  Did people sashay anymore? A quick glance around showed that the male attention was being pulled away from Ruby and to the lovely librarian. Mary Margaret arched one dark brow and wondered what had gotten into Belle, and where she could get some of it.

“Just the girls I want to see,” Belle chirped as she slid herself onto a bar stool at the counter. 

“Damn I love that dress,” Ruby huffed enviously as she observed Belle, “What’s the occasion, sweetie?”

“Just because,” Belle grinned as she accepted a large mug of the diner’s coffee. “Is Emma coming in for breakfast this morning?”

“I don’t think so,” Mary Margaret said, “she had a really long night locating the father of those poor homeless kids. I think this case hit a little too close to home for Emma,” she confided, tossing her short cap of dark hair.

Belle frowned, “I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmured sincerely.

“Did you need Emma for something,” Ruby inquired.

“No, I just wanted you all to be here. I need your opinions,” she trailed off to purposely build the tension, “on which pictures I should post on my profile.”

“You went for it?” Ruby squeaked.

“I did,” Belle affirmed. After much enthusiastic squealing and general female merriment, the girls decided on three pictures for Belle to post.  Two of them were taken by someone else and given to her: she was smiling at someone off camera—one with her hair loose and the other with her hair up and styled.  The third picture was an awkward self portrait she had taken with her cellphone. She was really just patiently staring at the camera. “Well, now I can get started,” Belle said.

Ruby’s wolfish grin and Mary Margaret’s encouraging nod were cut short as both glanced meaningfully over Belle’s shoulder.  In all her excitement, belle hadn’t heard the bell on the door or the distinctive step-click that announced Gold’s presence. She did note, however, how all the air in the room suddenly felt thicker—difficult to pull into her lungs.

“Miss French, might I have a word?” His Scottish brogue was rougher than usual this morning, and Belle found herself wondering if he had passed a difficult night or if his voice was always this husky in the morning.

He stood directly behind her, so Belle had to turn on her barstool to look him in the eyes.  His dark suit had charcoal pin striping on it today and his silk shirt was oxblood with a crisp black tie.  Despite the excellent cut of his suit, his chin bore a slight stubble and his hazel eyes looked tired. _Huh,_ her frazzled brain managed to connect a thought, _he has green and gold mixed in with those hazel irises… I bet no one ever gets close enough to him to notice._

“Miss French?” he requested impatiently.

Belle cleared her throat, face flaming when she realized he had caught her staring, “Certainly, Mr. Gold.”

“Outside, please, Miss French,” Gold gestured toward the door with his free hand.

“Okay,” Belle tried to calmly proceed him out the door, but she could feel the blush creep around the back of her neck as the other customers followed the unusual pair with their eyes. Gold escorted her to the side of Granny’s with a hand carefully placed at the small of her back.  It was such an old world gesture that Belle couldn’t help the fond smile that played upon her lips—apparently chivalry wasn’t dead.

She noticed the lack of windows on this side of the building and raised one dark eyebrow, “Trying to avoid witnesses?”  She leaned carefully against the brick building, but it was too studied a pose.  It clearly said that Belle was so unconcerned about this meeting that it didn’t even require her to stand up straight.  She sincerely doubted that Gold bought her little act, but she felt braver in the attempt.

Gold’s mouth quirked on one side as if he fought off a smile, “Merely trying to get a little privacy.”

“Privacy?” Belle croaked as her heart inexplicably decided to lodge itself in her throat and press on her vocal chords.

“I dislike discussing business in a public venue,” he said a little too briskly. 

“Business…” Belle was confused and suddenly the light switched on in her busy brain, “Oh, this is about my desk!”

“Well, of course, dearie,”  he smirked, “Is there another reason we should be speaking?”

“Aside from my stimulating conversational skills?” She smirked right back at him.

Gold chuckled darkly, “I just thought you’d like to know that your desk will be delivered today.”

“Today?!” Belle gasped, “I thought it would take all week.”

“I wasn’t especially busy yesterday, so it was cleaned up earlier than expected,” he shrugged, “I don’t _have_ to deliver it today—“

“Oh no, please, I can’t wait,” Belle’s blue eyes sparkled with joy. “Thank you, Mr. Gold, it’s going to be wonderful!” Belle reached out one hand and squeezed his arm. Gold stared at her hand on his arm as though it might bite him.  Belle awkwardly removed the offending hand and stuck it quickly behind her back—thinking the tingle she felt was probably a stray static charge picked up from his suit.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Miss French,” he said thickly after a terribly long silence, and he began limping away.

“Belle,” she blurted at his back.

Gold paused and looked over his shoulder at her, lifting one sandy eyebrow.

“It’s—my name,” she explained lamely.  “Please, call me Belle.”

“Good day, Miss French,” he said solemnly before continuing on his mysterious way.

Belle felt strangely deflated after the conversation.  _Probably all the adrenaline leaving my system,_ she concluded.  She returned to the diner for breakfast and didn’t really speak of the odd conversation with Gold.  _Anyway_ , she thought to herself, _it was just business._

Gold was as good as his word—not that she doubted him.  Her gorgeous antique desk arrived mid-morning, hauled in by two stout and burly fellows (their nametags read Leroy and Stan). 

“Where do you want it, sister?” the one called Leroy puffed and strained under the weight.

“In my office, this way,” Belle led the way.  With many smiles and a few well-placed compliments to their male egos, Belle managed to sweet talk the movers into helping her rearrange the desk until she was satisfied (this took significantly longer—mostly because wanted to “see” the desk in a million different positions in the modest space). Pleased with the overall layout, Belle continued to charm the movers on their way out of the library (after she had signed Leroy up for a library card, despite his protests of “not being no reader, sister.”) With a toss of her glossy curls, Belle ran back to her office to just bask in the glow of her new space.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Gold was staring at his computer with something between contempt and utter loathing.  It wasn’t as though he hated the machine—technology was the magic in this world, and Gold had made himself a master of it for that reason alone.  No, what he hated was that he was having a difficult time phrasing his sentences the way he wished them to sound.  He had never been a verbally expressive man—cuttingly sarcastic and mocking, sure—but he had always had to keep his true feelings carefully hidden.  So attempting to communicate through this infernal machine was leaving him at something of a loss.

Deciding to take a break, he made himself a cup of strong tea and added a dollop of honey.  As the syrupy sweetener dispersed in the dark liquid, Gold imagined how Belle had looked that morning.  That unspeakably sultry red dress had been designed to drive men to desperate acts—he certainly felt capable of murder.  Perhaps she was trying to murder him via cardiac arrest? And those heels… One aspect of Belle’s appearance that had attracted Gold (as well as Rumplestiltskin) was Belle’s diminutive stature, but those heels made them almost equal height. Most women were taller than he—and bloody hell he had enjoyed being able to look down at her.  It made him feel… stronger, bolder, _bigger_ than he normally did. However, seeing her standing in those sky-high stilettoes (that did such magical things to the lower half of her body) and looking her directly in the eye had been strangely titillating. When she had leaned back against that wall outside of the diner, there was a large part of Gold that wished to press her to the bricks and take advantage of their current … alignment. He would bet half the magical baubles in his possession that he and she would have lined up nicely.

As he slowly sipped his tea he embraced the fantasy.  He imagined nibbling on her bottom lip as one hand anchored in her hair.  The other would sweep over her body, squeeze that plump hip and sweep one stiletto-tipped leg around his waist—leaving her open and panting for his manipulations. He shuddered as he put the image away in a dusty corner of his mind he reserved for his enjoyment and tried to turn his mind to the task at hand.

It was time to initiate his plan.  Emma was here—the curse was going to be broken.  If he did not act soon it would be too late.  Belle had to love him before the curse was lifted and she remembered how he had thrown her out of the Dark Castle—how he had lacked the bravery to fight for her.

He needed to woo her. Gold was ashamed to admit that there had been no courtship, no romance, in their tragic little love story.  It had been a crazy mistake—the most incredible blunder of his life, and thank the bloody stars for it. This time, he wanted to give her the romance she read about in her old books. Gold was not under the delusion that he would be Belle’s milksop Prince Charming—no, he would play the Heathcliff or the Rochester, villains turned lover by the unusual grace of their ladies fair.

So now, he, Rumplestiltskin, The Dark One, had to figure out the most difficult of all magic—courtship and love.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Belle couldn’t stop the little hum of pleasure that vibrated out of her every time she spotted her new desk in her office.  She could admit to herself that she took every opportunity she could to go to her office that day—she rather intended to enjoy the novelty.  She ran her hands over the smooth wood and inhaled the scent of age and lemony furniture polish.  She was so motivated to use the desk that she spent her lunch hour (when she normally went for a stroll or read on a park bench) in her office.  Of course, the outside world did not give her the benefit of a Wi-Fi connection but the library did.

Belle knew it was probably too early for anyone to have responded to her posted profile, but her anxiousness got the better of her.  The worst case scenario was that she would look at a few profiles before anyone expressed interest in hers.  So, enjoying the contrast of her sleek laptop on the aged surface of her desk, Belle opened her chosen site and was stunned to see that three different subscribers had already viewed her profile.  Each of them had left a brief message encouraging her to view their respective profiles as well.

Belle was not really sure what the protocol of online dating sites, but it seemed only polite to view their profiles after they left permission. With a heady little thrill, Belle realized that she had the power in these possible relationships.  It was up to her whether she would view their profiles and make the next move—and wasn’t that just thrilling? She _controlled_ the situation, and what did that say about her that the position of control left her so excited?

Trying to rein in her new-found thirst for power (and mentally rolling her eyes at herself) Belle opened the first profile.  The subscriber’s username was LoveDoctor69.  _Well,_ Belle laughed to herself, _that’s not exactly subtle._ LoveDoctor69 turned out to be Dr. Victor Whale from Storybrooke Hospital.  Belle should have known that the notorious ladies’ man would be on an internet dating site.  He had already run through much of the females in Storybrooke, and Belle felt slightly awkward that they had the website in common. To be fair, Belle tried to look at his profile with an open mind.

 _While my first love will always be science and medicine,_ Victor’s profile read, _I would really like to get to know someone new.  I am confident in the hospital, but I come off very differently when talking to women. I’ve always felt just a little out of place, like I don’t belong in my hometown, and I hope meeting the right woman will give me a new sense of home._

Belle was surprisingly intrigued by the doctor’s honesty.  She knew what it was like to feel out of place.  Her girlfriends in college had always thought her prudish and boring.  It was not a comfortable way to live.  Maybe the rumors about Dr. Victor Whale were as exaggerated as everyone else’s in this small town.  She like science, and had the healthy respect any klutzy girl did for the doctors who often tended their wounds.  _What the hell_ , she decided briskly, _I did get onto this site to takes risks._   She quickly drafted an email to send to Victor, offering a few personal details and asking for a few in return.  She wasn’t ready to actually ask someone on a date, but she thought maybe taking the time to get to know someone via email wouldn’t be a terrible idea.  At least they could figure out if they had anything to talk about before they spent the money on dinner and drinks.

Feeling energized, she clicked to the next profile, username Cricket35.  When the profile opened, Belle gasped to discover Dr. Archie Hopper’s mild face smiling out at her.  The town’s psychiatrist was on a match-making site? Apparently the good doctors of this town were as hopeless at love as the average town librarian, Belle chuckled to herself. 

 _I’m not really sure what I’m doing on this site,_ Archie had typed. _I’m not sure I really should be seeking love at this time.  Perhaps, I’m more interested in a companion.  I firmly believe that if two people begin as friends, there may be time and space to allow a different type of relationship to grow._

Although she was sympathetic to Archie’s profile, she just couldn’t picture herself kissing the man—the idea of the mild-mannered doctor amorously taking her in his arms and sweeping her off her feet just didn’t fit.  On the other hand, she had enjoyed his company the other day in the library.  Their discussion on the merits of graphic novels as modern literature had been intellectually stimulating. Maybe if they did start as friends... Belle emailed him. It was a simple email stating that she would like to be his friend, with an option for more.

Belle was metaphorically patting herself on the back.  She had taken two chances she wouldn’t have without this website. Emma was right; the internet did make her braver. With a glance at the clock, she saw that she had another twenty minutes on her lunch hour. _Okay,_ _on to Bachelor Number Three_ , Belle smiled to herself.

There was something very odd about Cyrano28’s profile.  First of all, there was no picture, just the default figurine that the website provided until the member provided their own image.  He also did not mention his name—first or last—and gave no age, no hometown, there was absolutely no personal information on the website whatsoever. Though the literary reference in his username did catch Belle’s attention, alarms went off in her brain.  What kind of person joins a dating website, but doesn’t allow the other members to get to know him?

 _I know what you’re thinking_ , Cyrano’s profile mocked her. _Why does a man put himself out there, without really putting himself out there?_

Belle smiled despite her misgivings.  At least Cyrano recognized his own odd behavior—maybe she should read on.

 _Suffice it to say,_ she read on, _that I am a coward. I consider myself a private person, and like my namesake ‘Cyrano,’ I do not wish to be rejected out of hand.  If you saw just the meager information a profile provides at a glance, I doubt you would give me a second glance. So, all I can hope, is that my words can interest you enough to get to know the real me. These words are_ _tenderly written by a Cyrano looking for his Roxanne, via this website that stands in for Christian._

The simple beauty of the allusion to the mournful play made Belle catch her breath.  This man was not someone to trifle with—she could tell by the simple, yet profound, way he presented himself.  To term himself a coward while asking to reveal himself in his own time was utterly fascinating.  Cyrano, whoever he was, had been hurt before—and he did not trust to the impersonal side of internet dating to make magic happen. It sounded as though Cyrano was writing directly to her, not just the random space beyond his keyboard as so many other profiles suggested.

She opened the email window and sat for several moments before she began typing:

_Dear Cyrano, I wonder at your use of so tragic a namesake. I am no silly Roxanne to be fooled by trickery—I prefer honesty in all things. You read my profile, so you know my name is Belle. I don’t ask for your name yet, but what will you reveal to me, I wonder? Your words moved me.  I would like more words if you’ll share them._

Belle sent the message before she had time to doubt herself. Though she smiled, wondering when she would hear from her three potential suitors again, her mind couldn’t help revolving back to the enigmatic Cyrano.  When her lunch break ended, Belle made her way to the drama section of the library.  She grabbed a leather-covered edition of _Cyrano deBergerac_ and placed it back in her office.  She wondered if rereading the play would give her any insight into her little mystery.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Gold managed not to check his email until he closed the shop to business that evening.  Patience was among his few virtues, so he kept forcing his pursuit of Belle out of his mind.  The fact that it was a constant battle with his attention earned him a healthy dose of self-mockery.

It had been a calculated risk, creating that nearly blank profile.  He had been extremely careful not to put too much information that could lead back to him in the public view.  He groaned to think of what Regina would do with the information if she got her cursed hand on it. His caution could also be his downfall, he knew, but if Belle hadn’t messaged him in three days, he was going to message her. That was the plan, and bloody hell he _was_ going to wait the three days, he reminded himself. 

When he had read her profile, Gold couldn’t help a little warmth of pride in his Belle. She had remembered what he taught her so long ago—the power of names. _Well, I choose to own my power and tell you my real name,_ she had typed.  And wasn’t that just like the blue-eyed vixen he had brought home, he laughed to himself.  _No one decides my fate but me,_ she had said in their old world, and why should now be any different? Her request to begin honestly had choked him up a little—but he was as honest as he could be on that profile.  Gold prayed (to whatever deity would listen to an old monster) that somehow she would see through the façade and see him—she had seen through Rumplestitlskin once to the man underneath the magic, so why not through a computer to him?

Gold got up to pour himself a few fingers of whiskey out of the bottle he kept in the back desk drawer.  He would have liked to drink the burning liquid out of her chipped cup—a good omen, surely—but it was at home with his other treasures.  He contented himself with a large gulp, shook back his longish brown hair, and steeled himself as he logged on to the website.

The burn of the whiskey turned into a euphoric glow when he realized that she had emailed his account. It was a short note, but intriguing.  So she wanted more words, did she? He grinned at the challenge his Belle had accorded him, and took a moment to consider what words he would use and just what he would reveal about himself to the pretty little librarian. 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Although Belle checked before she left the library at the end of the day, she had no more messages.  The lack of response was to be expected after all the library closed at six—most people did have jobs during the day, and she knew both of the doctors did.  She wondered briefly what Cyrano did for a living. Still, it was a Friday night, and that meant she had nothing to do. 

Belle considered calling up her friends for an impromptu girls’ night, but she remembered Emma was on call, Mary Margaret was sneaking off with David (worst-kept secret in town), and Ruby had a date with Billy from the garage in town.  What was a lonely girl to do? Belle smirked to herself as she walked into Looking Glass, the chic little café/wine bar that her friend Jeff owned. 

Belle had fallen in love with the place immediately.  It had a modern Wonderland theme: there were odd bottles and treasures down this rabbit hole, with small cakes with the words “eat me” and bottles saying “drink me” for sale, and even two couches with rose patterned upholstery—one white and one red.  “Painting the roses red?” Belle had smiled at Jeff in his tattered top hat.

“Indeed,” he had grinned at her, recognizing a sympathetic soul, “people rarely notice.”

Since that day, the two had been fast friends and Belle would frequent Looking Glass on her dateless weekend nights or whenever she wished to get away for a while during the week.  Sometimes she and Jeff would have lively conversations on literature and film, and sometimes she would just lose herself in a book and a glass of wine.

Tonight, Belle brought in her leather-bound copy of _Cyrano deBergerac_.  She refused to use her cell phone and check her email until later that night—she refused to be one of those girls who waited with bated breath by the phone (or the computer) until a guy got back to them. Instead, she settled down to reread the play as a type of research to prepare her to spar with her own Cyrano’s wit. Belle snickered and pondered whether Cyrano would be up to the task.

Jeff poured her a generous glass of her favorite cabernet and brought it over to her couch.  “That’s an old, sad story,” Jeff tapped the spine of Belle’s book, “feeling a little blue today, Bells?” Jeff was the only person in the world who called her by that nickname—and she really didn’t care for it. He wandered over to the discreet music player and selected a playlist that was mellow and (she smiled) bluesy.

“No, I’m not feeling blue,” Belle sighed, “but I had forgotten how lovely this play is.  It’s clever and witty and oh-so-heart-wrenching,” she groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Oh, Jeff, why do I do this to myself?”

Jeff smiled quietly and said over his shoulder, “You must be mad.” He left her to her book, heading toward the back room to work on something that probably related to running a business.  Unlike Granny’s, the Looking Glass was hardly ever crowded.  Belle didn’t think Jeff turned much of a profit, but he was one of the richest men in town, so he was rich enough to be eccentric enough to keep the poor place running.  The solitude suited Belle just fine.

Her mind was absolutely absorbed in staging the play in her mind—the crazy Renaissance costumes and face paint warring with the sincerity of Cyrano’s passion made for a captivating performance.  She was so absorbed that she didn’t realize she had company.  She peeked carefully over the top of the book and saw Mr. Gold sitting across from her on the white rose couch. She felt color rise to her cheeks when she realized he was waiting for an answer—which meant that she hadn’t actually heard what he had said.  “I’m sorry?” she rasped.  Grabbing her glass of wine, Belle sipped to clear her throat.

“I just said hello,” Gold grinned for no reason she could see, “but you seemed rather busy in your book.”

“Yes,” Belle ducked her head sheepishly, “I have a very rude habit of reading too deeply to coherently respond to the world around me.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gold was on his way to his car when he passed Looking Glass—the over-the-top dive the aptly named Mad Hatter had opened off Main Street.  He usually just shook his head at the garish place, but tonight he saw Belle curled up in one of the couches and he paused.  What would she be doing in there?

He had watched her affectionate interaction with Jefferson and felt the knee-jerk reaction of jealousy rise up in his gut.  The man was speaking to her with the ease of long practice, and did that damn hatter’s hand linger a little unnecessarily on the wine glass when he handed Belle her drink?

That would never do—he had created a whole different persona to woo Belle, he wasn’t about to be outdone by a man with access to simple alcohol. He limped himself into the small café and sat down heavily on the couch opposite Belle who had her nose thoroughly buried in her book. Jefferson had disappeared off somewhere. He felt a bit awkward when she didn’t give a cheery greeting, in fact she didn’t speak at all. 

Then the memory stirred, of walking in on her at the Dark Castle (several times) and seeing her utterly lost in a book. Then he saw the title she was so taken with and couldn’t help the grin the spread across his face, _Cyrano deBergerac_. She was reading… for him.

“Hello, Miss French,” he murmured, not really wanting to disturb her.

A moment passed before she shifted in her seat and caught sight of him, and he felt the grin deepen. “I’m sorry,” Belle’s voice was rough with disuse and she sipped her wine to give her hands something to do.

“I just said hello, but you seemed rather busy in your book,” Gold felt a warm glow spread through him at the thought of her looking into the book for insight into him.

“Yes,” Belle ducked her head and blushed, “I have a very rude habit of reading too deeply to coherently respond to the world around me.”

Gold had always loved it when Belle blushed. Even when she would try to hide what she was thinking, that lovely peaches-and-cream complexion of hers would give away hints.  _A man could learn to live for such hints,_ Gold thought. “No harm done,” he had a moment of panic when he didn’t know what to say next. They just looked at each other for what felt like an interminable amount of time when Jefferson suddenly appeared at Gold’s elbow.

“Good evening, Mr. Gold,” the dashing man with questionable fashion sense said as he came out from the back room, “can I get you a glass of wine?”

Gold looked at the other man and recognized a wannabe knight-in-shining-armor protecting the damsel-in-distress from an old dragon.  Gold enjoyed the idea of playing up his dragon role in front of this upstart and so he glared at Jefferson and held out his hand to Belle.

In the way that Belle had always understood Rumplestiltskin’s intentions (their communications were rarely with words) Belle handed Gold her half full glass of wine.  Gold did not break eye contact with Jefferson as he brought the glass to his mouth. Jefferson’s eyes widened fractionally as he watched Gold line his lips up with the vague lipstick mark Belle had left on the glass. Gods, he could taste her on the glass—twenty-eight years of separation be damned, he remembered her flavor. “Mmm,” Gold said with appreciation, “delicious—mellow and smooth with just a hint of spice. I’ll have what she’s having, dearie.”

“An excellent choice,” Jefferson said stiffly and walked back to the counter to get Gold his own glass.

Gold turned from the foolish man and looked back at Belle.  She was pale, but his brave girl stalwartly held out her hand for her glass of wine that he still held. Gold was no fool, he knew he had over-played his hand, but he saw no other way than forward, so he handed her the glass, careful that their hands did not touch. She cradled it in her hands, and looked down at the smudged lipstick stain on the glass.  The silence stretched as tension built between them.  Gold wanted, more than he wanted air to breath, for her to sip from the same spot and taste him as he had tasted her. Deliberately, she turned the glass in her hands and set it down on the table next to her couch as delicately as if it would explode with excessive pressure.

Belle took a deep breath and met his eyes, “That wasn’t very nice.”

Gold did not see a reason to lie to her, “I’m not a very nice person, Miss French.”

Their sudden honesty was interrupted by Jeff bringing Gold his wine.  Jefferson turned to look at Belle, “Do you need anything?”

“No, Jeff, I’m alright, thank you,” she said looking up at him.

“If you _do_ need anything,” Jefferson said carefully, “you call me—I’ll just be in the back.”

Belle smiled at her friend’s concern, “Of course.” She watched Jeff walk into the back room and wondered why she wasn’t a little more concerned herself.  She knew Gold’s reputation—not that she believed all of it, but as they say, where there’s smoke there’s fire—yet she wasn’t intimidated.  If anything, she found his behavior… strangely thrilling.  It was like standing on top of a very tall building—exhilarating and dangerous all at the same time.

“So, Miss French,” Gold settled himself more comfortably on his couch, “what scene had you so captivated?” he asked nodding at the book she left open on its face, marking the page.

“Do you know the play, Mr. Gold?” Belle asked with surprise.  Yes, it was fairly well-known, but it didn’t have nearly the popularity of Shakespeare or even Arthur Miller. When he only nodded, solemnly, she answered, “I’m at the balcony scene.”

“Ah, the best scene, I think,” Gold smiled.  “There’s something so beautifully naïve about it.”

Belle scoffed now that she found herself back on more familiar territory—books she could discuss with ease. “Roxanne makes me crazy,” she admitted, “how can she be around Cyrano and not see him for who he really is?  If she really falls in love with his words and not his face, how can she not see beneath his disguise?”

“You’re missing the point, dearie,” Gold admonished softly, drinking his wine, “He doesn’t wish her to know it’s him.  He only wants her to be happy.  Christian makes her happy, not Cyrano.”

Belle shook her head in disgust, “That’s why I don’t like her—she’s so one dimensional.”

Gold tilted his head to one side, “What do you mean?”

“To me, love is layered,” Belle took up her glass of wine, she spun the glass between her palms, but she still didn’t drink. “Love is a mystery to be uncovered. I don’t understand how Roxanne could give her heart to someone as superficial as Christian.”

Gold was thunderstruck.  She had said nearly those exact words to him once… so long ago.  He gulped, sipped more of his wine, and gulped again. Belle was looking at him with such sincerity in her eyes, he felt color rise in his face. He looked down at his wine, “Well I suppose she does redeem herself in the end.”

Belle snorted, and the spell between them was broken—the snort had been distinctly unladylike. “Sure, after years of pining after the false, dead lover and standing next to the real, live lover—only to discover her mistake when Cyrano is on his deathbed.” She rolled her eyes expressively, “Oh it just aggravates me.”

Gold found himself chuckling.  He loved the way her busy mind worked beneath that mane of curling hair.  He often thought that it had been her mind that had attracted him even more than her beautiful appearance—and that certainly left nothing to be desired. “I see your point,” Gold toasted her with his glass.

“Oh I wanted to thank you,” Belle said, changing the subject. “The desk is absolutely perfect in my office—it is exactly what I needed.”

“Sturdy enough for you?” Gold found himself teasing.

Belle blushed again, and he wondered if she remembered (as he did) the brief moment of contact between their bodies when he had hoisted her up on that desk.  He wanted her to vividly recall it every time she sat at the desk. “Yes, it’s really exactly right.”

“Happy to have been of service, Miss French,” he replied.

Belle arched one eyebrow, “I have asked you to call me by my first name.  I know you’re capable of it.”

“Am I?” he grinned devilishly.

“A well-read gentleman like you?” Belle scoffed, “My sensibilities are shocked that I must ask you twice!”

 _She is teasing me_ , Gold marveled.  This young woman teased where most of the town trembled.  _Brave, brave Belle,_ he thought with awe. Gold looked down again, shyly, “Well, I suppose I can’t offend a lady now can I… Belle?” His accent rolled her name around his tongue before it exited his lips. 

Belle was beaming at him—she knew a victory when she won one. “No, you can’t.”

After that the conversation was limited mostly to safe subjects—other books they had both read and other mundane matters. With a sigh, Gold rose to his feet, gripping his cane and nodding to Belle, “I think I shall go on home. Thank you for sharing a drink with an old man.”

Belle smiled again, “It would be nice to know the old man’s first name—it would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

Gold swallowed, “It’s Nick.”

“Thank you for the company,” Belle murmured as she—Gods, help him, FINALLY, drank from the wine glass.  Her lips remarking the spotted glass, she met his eyes.  She carefully picked up her book and kept her eyes on the pages of the book until she heard the outside door open and close.  “Goodnight, Nick,” she whispered to the empty room.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

As Belle walked home her head still spun from her interaction with Gold.  _Nick_ , she thought with amusement _, his name is Nick._ Did anyone in town even know that?

Gold had been all of three steps out of the door when Jefferson had come careening out of the back room to ask, “And just what the _hell_ was all _that_ about?”

Belle had shrugged it off, “Maybe he’s just lonely on a Friday night?”

Jeff had tried to pester her about it but she had fended him off until she got annoyed.  She had left Looking Glass with a vague mention of having a lot of on her mind while still clutching the unfinished _Cyrano deBergerac_ to her chest. She wasn’t an idiot. Belle had seen the look in Nick’s eyes as he had sipped from her wine glass—it had been predatory.  She had no idea how she had attracted his notice.  Maybe her confidence from the website was spilling over into the real world and she had become more noticeable?

Whatever the reason for Gold’s mysterious behavior, Belle put it out of mind as she unlocked the door to her small studio apartment. She had decided, firmly, that she wasn’t going to wait by the computer for the men of Storybrooke to answer her emails.  Instead, she had enjoyed her Friday evening.  It was now going on eleven o’clock, so she didn’t feel quite so maudlin as she checked to see what had transpired over the evening. To her delight, all three of her guys (as she thought of them) had responded to her emails.  

Doctor Victor Whale’s was cordial:

_Dear Belle,_

_Now that I know who you are, I must say that I am shocked we have not spoken before this. I thought I knew every pretty girl in Storybrooke.  How about going to see a movie on Saturday? I know it’s short notice, but I rarely get the Saturday shift off, and I would love the opportunity to get to know you better._

At this point the good doctor provided Belle with his phone number and told her to text him her response.  She grabbed her cell phone and responded with a yes—though a movie date was not the best way to get to know someone, it was certainly a start.

Archie seemed more reticient:

_Dear Belle,_

_I am very pleased that you wish to pursue a friendship.  Perhaps I could stop by the library sometime this week?  I would enjoy the chance to discuss your book choices from our last visit._

Belle smiled, Archie really was sweet.  And, no, she still couldn’t picture him trying to put any kind of moves on her—but she was okay with that.  It never hurt to make a new friend; her mind flitted past the encounter with Gold—not exactly friend material, but she would like to get to know him better, too. Belle quickly emailed Archie to let him know that she was working the morning shift at the Library on Saturday if he wanted to come in then.  Belle mentally patted herself on the back for scheduling what amounted to two dates in one day—she felt very cosmopolitan and just a little smug.

Satisfied, Belle opened the message from her third suitor:

_Dear Belle,_

_So, you wish for more of my words?  But, what if my words displease you? I find your demand for honesty rather intimidating—how may I present myself honestly without revealing my identity?_

_“Tis sweet, … the rare occasion, when our hearts can speak/Ourselves unseen, seeing.”_

Belle smiled at the quote from _Cyrano deBergerac_ , she recognized it easily from the balcony scene she had just been reading.

 _I think I will reveal myself in darkness in hopes that you will be able to_ see _me without_ seeing _. Now that I consider the notion, it pleases me.  You, darling Belle, may be the first person with whom I can be utterly honest because I hide here in the darkness of the internet server._

_So, in the spirit of honesty, I should tell you that I know who you are, Belle.  I see you almost every day.  I have checked books out of your library.  I have enjoyed a caffeine fix at Granny’s while you are there.  I have gotten dizzy on your perfume._

Belle found herself sitting up straighter at her computer screen.  It was not unusual that Cyrano should know who she was—Storybrooke was a small place, and Granny’s was the only local diner.  However, she found it shockingly exciting that she had most likely walked right past Cyrano and never recognized him.  It was a tragically lonely thought—she had always been a sucker for a tragic hero.

 _Before you ask, I’m not prepared to give up my identity just yet.  Indulge me in what little power I currently hold.  Allow me to anonymously bask in the sunlight of your smile a little longer yet.  I do love to_ observe _you, Belle._

_\--Cyrano_

                Belle discovered that she was leaning intently toward the computer.  Very glad that she lived alone (she was perfectly fine getting engrossed in a book, but the computer was a different matter altogether) Belle consciously leaned back into her chair. Who in Storybrooke could have participated in his list of … what did he call them—observations? She reread his message as she went through the list: walked past her on the street—that included most of the town every morning; checked out a book from the library—that happened to her so frequently she often knew what new books to put aside for whom.  She sneered slightly at the perfume and smile comments because they had obviously been meant to flatter her. She smiled with chagrin as she realized that she _had_ been flattered. However, just because he claimed to bask in her sunlight smile (and, yes, damnit that was seriously adorable) he wasn’t narrowing the field at all.  She smiled at a lot of people; it was usually the easiest way to get what she wanted.

                Belle grinned ruefully as she conceded the game—round one to Cyrano—she had no idea who he could be. She stood up and quickly began braiding her thick hair down her back as she considered her options.  Tomorrow was a fresh start.  She had two dates and firmly decided to also begin trying to deduce Cyrano’s identity. She suspected he knew that he was heightening his own appeal by keeping up the charade, and she considered it a personal challenge to puzzle him out.  As she tied off the braid, she allowed herself a shallow moment when she wondered if he had always harbored a little flame for her and was only now letting himself be… well, unseen. Clever, clever Cyrano.

                Belle sat back down at her computer and began typing a response to Cyrano.  She stopped at one point the thumb through the copy of _Cyrano deBergerac_ and find a particular quote to continue the online banter.

                XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                Red was keeping a careful watch on the door to Granny’s as she filled orders, poured coffee, and made change.  The diner was enjoying its usual Sunday rush, but she wasn’t really concentrating.  She was watching the door anticipating Belle.  The normally reserved brunette had gone on two dates yesterday and Ruby was practically salivating to know the details.

                _Two dates in one day?_ Ruby smirked. She was absurdly proud of Belle, even if she had been shocked that one of the two dates was the adorable Dr. Hopper.  The date with Dr. Whale was not surprising—every girl in Storybrooke had been hit on by him one time or another—and apparently it was Belle’s turn.

                Ruby was not alone in her Sunday morning vigil. Mary Margaret had all but dragged Emma out of bed to get her to Granny’s before Belle.  She needn’t have rushed; Belle was already half an hour later than usual.

                “Maybe she got lucky?” Emma suggested as she forced more caffeine into her drowsy system.  She knew she should cut back on the amount of coffee she drank in a day, but as the cobwebs slowly cleared from her brain she decided she would cut down…tomorrow.

                Mary Margaret looked a little sick at Emma’s suggestion, “With Whale? Ew,” she sipped her hot chocolate with cinnamon as if rinsing a foul taste from her mouth. “I did not need that mental picture.”

                Emma shrugged, “Maybe she and Hopper met up again after the date with Whale? Who knows, maybe she likes red heads?”

                Ruby tried to cover her discomfort by quickly shaking her head, “Not on the first date,” she said firmly, maybe a little desperately, “Belle isn’t that kind of girl.”

                Emma sighed and stretched to peer out Granny’s front window, “Well, she doesn’t normally sleep in, she’s an annoyingly perky morning person,” she declared with no small amount of suspicion. Emma had always been suspicious of morning people; they had no right to blast their sunshine in her bleary eyes until at least eleven o’clock.

                Mary Margaret just rolled her eyes, “I’m sure she’ll be here shortly…”  

                “There she is!” Ruby exclaimed as Belle appeared around the street corner. They girls quickly adopted bored expressions—as if they hadn’t been waiting on pins and needles for a full report.  It was a terrible show, but luckily Belle wasn’t paying much attention.

When Belle walked into Granny’s, Ruby could see her friend’s distraction from across the room. Her eyes were drawn to the red rose Belle was carrying.  It was a spectacular rose, so red it was really closer to a velvety purple with wicked looking thorns.

                “Belle, you okay?” Ruby asked as she handed Emma a platter of bacon and eggs.

                Belle sat next to Emma without answering Ruby, and stared at the rose as though it contained “the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything” (which reminded her, she really needed to return _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ to the library). Because the rose didn’t seem to be sporting a 42 anywhere that Ruby could see, she asked, “What’s with the rose?”

                “I think it’s from Cyrano,” Belle answered quietly. She had told the girls about her mystery man when she had told them about her other dates.

                Emma turned to look carefully at Belle, “You don’t know?”

                “It was on my doormat this morning with a note,” Belle answered, her cheeks flaming. “It wasn’t signed, but it seems like the type of gesture he’d make.”

                “Ooooh,” Mary Margaret practically cooed at the flower in Belle’s hand as she leaned in for a sniff. “Well, isn’t that a nice way to start the day?”

                “He’s messing with me,” Belle said stubbornly, glaring at the innocent flower. “He knows this is going to drive me crazy, and that’s exactly why he did it!”

                “Wait? A guy surprising you with flowers is a bad thing?” Mary Margaret looked at Ruby and Emma with an arched eyebrow, “when did we decide that a guy surprising you with flowers is a bad thing?”

                “No,” Belle sighed and ran her hands through her dark russet curls. “It’s just, not knowing who this guy is yet—it’s frustrating me.” At that point Emma got her cop face out and starting asking about stalkers and ex-boyfriends.  “No,” Belle laid a reassuring hand on Emma’s arm, “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t think this guy is a stalker.  I think… I don’t know, maybe he’s insecure, or a little hung up on his power play, maybe? I don’t feel threatened as much as I feel… provoked.” 

                “Well, he’s certainly got your attention,” Mary Margaret commented dryly, “Why don’t you tell us about him?”

                “I don’t know much,” Belle confessed, but she told them everything she knew (which wasn’t much).  “And then the note this morning!” Belle fished her copy of _Cyrano deBergerac_ out of her large purse and opened it, removing the slip of paper that was acting as a bookmark.  “See, it’s another line from the play.  That’s why I was so late this morning, I recognized the line, but I had to look it up.” She carefully smoothed the paper on the counter and handed it to Mary Margaret.

                Mary Margaret’s cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink as she read, “’My heart always timidly hides itself behind my mind.  I set out to bring down stars from the sky, then, for fear of ridicule, I stop and pick little flowers of eloquence.’” She sighed dreamily and passed the paper around, “Oh that’s lovely.  Do you suppose he thinks you’re the ‘stars from the sky’? It’s very romantic!” she gushed.

                Belle sighed, “The whole play is like that.  Heartbreaking phrases couched in a razor sharp wit,” she leaned her cheek on her hand as she sipped her tea.

                Emma rolled her eyes, but Ruby smiled with appreciation, “I think this guy is good for you—he’s keeping you on your toes.”

Belle turned to Emma, suddenly struck by an idea, “How do you determine who your suspects are when you’re … fighting crime?”

                Emma sipped her coffee and snorted, “We caped crusaders use a lot of elimination—who couldn’t possibly have committed the crime for one reason or another.  There’s also motive and opportunity to consider.”

                “Okay,” Belle said, warming up to the subject, “so, I should make a list of possible suspects and eliminate from there?”

                Ruby sat up excitedly, “Or you could just ask your dad who bought that flower for you—he is the town florist, right?”

                Mary Margaret shook her head, “That’s cheating,” she decided.  “If Belle wants to play Cyrano’s game, she had to outwit him.”

                Ruby put her hands on her hips in exasperation, but Belle agreed with Mary Margaret, “Besides,” she sighed, “I already thought of that, but this isn’t a hot house rose.”  She held it out for the girls to examine, “See the thorns? No florist worth his salt leaves thorns on a rose, and no hot house grows a variety with this much foliage attached,” she indicated the leaves. “No, I think this might be from the forest or someone’s back yard—the color is extraordinary, so I think it’s probably a hybrid someone is growing in their garden.”

                Emma smiled and shook her head, “You’re such a geek—seriously, who knows that just from a rose?”

                “Well, as Ruby pointed out,” Belle said defensively, “my dad _is_ the town florist and I read… a lot,” she finished lamely.

                Mary Margaret smiled sympathetically and patted Belle on the shoulder, “I think what Emma meant to say, is that if you could figure all that out from a rose, then maybe this Cyrano needs to work a little harder to keep you guessing.”

                “Yea, that’s what I meant to say,” Emma smiled into her coffee.

                “So, how did your dates go last night?” Ruby tried to lead in casually.

                Belle actually chuckled, “Total busts.  Archie and I decided to just remain friends after we agreed to disagree on supernatural literature—I mean how can you hate _Dracula_? Anyway, spirited debating aside, he actually confessed that he has feelings for someone else.  He was just on the dating site to try and meet someone new, but he isn’t over her,” Belle shrugged. “I was relieved, honestly.”

                Ruby took the first deep breath she had taken since Belle told her about the date with Archie, “did he mention who he is interested in?” she tried to ask off-handedly.

                Belle smiled, “I think you might know her…” but left it at that. She adored Ruby, but if she couldn’t tell that the shy psychologist was crazy for her, well she needed to take a serious hint.

                “What about the date with Whale?” Mary Margaret asked.

                “The man is a total bore,” Belle confessed.  “He just wanted to talk about his brilliant scientific research—which is fine for about ten minutes, then it gets really tedious,” she wrinkled her nose. “No, the most interesting man I’ve met—well, I haven’t actually met him—is Cyrano.”

                “Want me to deputize you?” Emma teased, “Maybe we can create a task force to help you identify your perp.”

                Belle stuck her tongue out at Emma, “No, thank you.  I’m going to do this on my own—Cryano won’t know what hit him.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

                The library was unusually subdued for a Sunday afternoon.  Normally, Sundays were when Belle saw the most patrons—wild-eyed parents dragging in bored children in futile attempts at entertainment or surly teenagers who sought assistance on a project they had procrastinated on too long—but this Sunday was so quiet Belle sent her volunteers home for the day.  She was forced to find little projects to occupy her time.

                Of course, the real problem with these small tasks was that while they kept her hands busy, her mind was left wander. Inevitably, her thoughts would circle back to Cyrano and his possible identity. _Motive and opportunity_ , Belle mused and tossed her dark curls out of her eyes, _Plenty had the opportunity but few paired that opportunity with the right motive_.  She walked to a deserted section of the library with an armful of old books the high school had borrowed for a unit on the Revolutionary War. She dragged over an old, rickety ladder and started her loaded assent as her busy mind continued to whirl.

                Belle considered her next move as she shelved the old tomes—she needed some response to the rose, though she really wasn’t sure _how_ to respond to it yet. It had been such a lovely, and infuriating, gesture.  She loved roses, there were so many species, all so unique, and they were all so beautiful. When she had walked out of her apartment this morning and looked down to see the rose on her doormat, she had just melted. Then that quote: “My heart always timidly hides itself behind my mind.  I set out to bring down stars from the sky, then, for fear of ridicule, I stop and pick little flowers of eloquence.” It was so beautiful—and so damn appropriate. Cyrano’s fear of rejection made Belle’s heart stir with pity, though she was sure pity was the last emotion any man wanted to stir in a woman, she just couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.  She wanted to reach out, to offer her friendship and maybe more to the stranger, and she was confounded on how to do that.

                Belle was precariously perched on the tall ladder as she leaned to put the last book back in its place.  She really ought to move the ladder to reach that far, but she thought she just might be able to reach it…

                “And just what do you think you’re doing up there?” called a stern voice from the floor.

                Belle grinned, that accent was unmistakable, “Putting up curtains,” Belle said sarcastically, smiling down at Gold, “Honestly, Nick, what do it look like I’m doing?”

                “Tempting fate,” he snapped, but the biting tone was softened by the quirk of his lips—not quite a smile, but more than a grimace.

                Belle chuckled, “Oh for goodness sake,” she stretched half an inch farther, “I know I’m clumsy, but I think I should be able to--,” she never finished that statement.  She overbalanced and dropped like a stone.

                With the long experience of the accident prone, she sucked in a breath and waited for the impact with the hard tiled floor.  Except she hit something warm and solid—she had been stopped abruptly by a set of warm arms—Gold had tried to catch her!  She gasped as they stumbled for a moment, each one’s balance thrown off by the other’s momentum, and they hit the bookshelf with a hard wham. That wham steadied them for moment and Nick got his legs under him and set her feet down on the ground. The blood was roaring in Belle’s ears and she wondered vaguely if it was adrenaline or that fact that Nick’s leg was wedged between both of hers, his hands were gripping her waist tightly enough to bruise, her arms were about his neck, and his full length was pressed against her. Belle took stock of their position and decided that she didn’t hate it—actually the look of naked desire in Nick’s eyes was both satisfying and terribly thrilling.

                “Belle?” Nick breathed.  They were both breathing hard—almost panting—and they were so close that they were breathing each other’s air. She could taste his breath on her tongue as though he had kissed her—tea and cinnamon. Belle found her eyes drawn to Gold’s mouth, and she watched him lick his lips as though in slow motion.

                The moment was cut short as a spasm of pain crossed his face and his bad leg gave out beneath him, wrenching him sideways.  As plastered against him as she was, she went down too.  Hard.  They landed in a heap on the floor, legs tangled, her arms caught under him, and her torso (breasts to hips) pressed on top of him. They lay there for a moment staring into each other’s eyes and too stunned to speak before she realized he was in pain.

                “Oh, God, _Nick_ , I’m sorry!” Belle cried as she untangled her limbs from his.  He rolled onto his side with a groan, clutching his twisted knee.  “Nick, look at me,” she implored, placing one hand on his cheek, searching his eyes as he leaned into her touch.  When he met her eyes, his pupils were dilated with pain, “Nick, can you move if I help you?” He closed his eyes, sweat was slicking down his shaggy brown hair, but he nodded.  “Alright, I’m going to help you up,” she kept talking to him as she got her shoulder under him and stood him up.  He pressed his lips together, repressing a whimper she refused to acknowledge to save his pride, and they made their way carefully to Belle’s office. 

She nudged him onto her desk, and as soon as he was settled on the sturdy surface, she ran out of the room.  She grabbed her first aid kit, his cane, and filled a dish towel with ice from the break room.  Belle came back into her office and found Gold extremely still. “You’re really hurt, aren’t you?” Belle whispered hoarsely—she so did not want to cry in front of him, but she hated seeing him this way; he was hardly breathing for the agony of his knee.

Gold chuckled sardonically, “What was your first clue, Miss French?”

                “Oh no, I am in trouble,” Belle tried to smile, “if it’s back to Miss French. Does that mean I have to call you Mr. Gold again?” She handed him the makeshift ice pack, set the cane carefully against the wall, and searched through the first aid kit for aspirin.

                “Only if you insist on acting like a foolish child,” he sneered.

                She visibly flinched from his accusation, but then she set her jaw firmly—“Foolish child?” she lifted her blue eyes to his and they flashed with annoyance, “I wasn’t the only foolish one in the room.  What were you thinking, trying to catch me like that?” She scolded him as she handed him the aspirin with a bottle of water, “I think I probably outweigh you, _Mr. Gold_ , so I’m not really sure what you hoped to accomplish,” she muttered.

                They glared at each other for a moment, and Belle felt color rise in her cheeks as she remembered their last intense moment of eye contact. She swallowed and looked away, “And thank you for foolishly trying to catch me,” she said softly, “and I’m sorry that you were hurt because I didn’t move the stupid ladder.”

                “You’re not that heavy,” Gold grumbled and Belle was shocked to see color rise in his cheeks as he looked everywhere but at her.  “If my balance wasn’t so … limited,” he suggested, “I would have been able to keep us upright there at the end.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                Gods, but the woman was infuriating—was she _trying_ to do herself harm and damn near kill him in the process?  Gold was utterly mortified that his leg chose the moment when he finally had Belle in his embrace again to betray him. He had seen the transition on her face as he had stopped her fall—fear to shock to dawning comprehension to something that had involved her staring very hard at his mouth. It had reminded him so vividly of the moment he had caught her in Dark Castle—at least it would have if his bloody knee didn’t feel as though it was on fire.

                He could have held onto his ire if she hadn’t relented (though part of him thrilled to see the anger stir in her).  What was it about Belle that even made apologizing the brave thing to do? “And thank you for foolishly trying to catch me,” she said softly, “and I’m sorry that you were hurt because I didn’t move the stupid ladder.”

                “You’re not that heavy,” Gold grumbled and blushed at his own stubborn idiocy, “If my balance wasn’t so … limited,” he suggested, “I would have been able to keep us upright there at the end.” He was trying to look anywhere that wasn’t at her—how did a man face a woman he had failed to rescue?  Good thing he was never the knight in shining armor type.

                When he heard her giggle, he lifted his gaze to hers and felt his answering grin.  Gods she had the most innocent laugh—carefree and unrestricted.  When his Belle laughed, she laughed with her whole spirit. Her laugh had been one of the things he’d treasured about her in the Dark Castle.  If her smile could light up the room, her laughter was lighting up his soul. He often thought that the Dark One inside him had been insanely attracted to her innocence—and the possibility of introducing her to debauchery.

                Ashamed of the course of his thoughts, he let his eyes wander and they settled on the rose he had dropped at her apartment that morning.  It was displayed on her desk in a lovely little bud vase with a pile of horticulturalist books beside it. The rose was a lovely specimen, if he did say so himself, as it should be considering he had conjured it from their old world.  It was a small magic—something he was still capable of here—but on this occasion incredibly satisfying. “Nice flower,” he commented, gesturing at the rose in its vase on her desk, “a token from your father?”

                “Actually it’s from an admirer,” she said with a little warmth.  She bustled about the room as he held the ice to his knee.  It was throbbing less, so he was fairly sure he didn’t have to go to the hospital. 

                “Oh?  I didn’t think you were seeing anyone, Miss French,” he said slyly.

                Belle glared at him from the corner of her eye, keeping her hands busy, “I’m not,” she said succinctly.

                Gold tilted his head, he wondered how much she would reveal in this game, “The token suggests otherwise,” he stated. When Belle shrugged he asked, “Do you not wish for this gentleman’s attention then?”

                Belle sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

                Gold felt his lips quirk, “Why not, dearie?”

                “Oh, don’t you ‘dearie’ me,” she snorted, “it’s none of your business,” she said indicating the flower.

                “What if I want it to be my business?” he asked softly.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

                Belle froze; she couldn’t have heard him right. Mr. Gold wanted to make her love life (or lack thereof) his business?  She met his eyes, dark hazel with those shimmers of green and gold.  She found it difficult to breathe again when she answered, “I don’t know who it’s from.”

                “Ah,” he nodded, “so that’s why you’re looking at the books on plants—research.”

                “How did you know?” Belle smiled.

                “Makes sense, find the rose, find the giver—assuming you want to find the giver,” Gold explained.

                “Most people don’t understand it when I turn to books…” Belle admitted, twisting a curl on one finger, a sign of insecurity.

                “So, _do_ you want to find the giver?” Gold asked quietly.

                “It’s still none of your business,” Belle smiled to take the sting out of her words.

                “What if I’m concerned for a friend?” Gold asked carefully, levering himself off the desk and grabbing his cane.

                “So we’re friends now?” Belle leaned against the desk which was still warm from his body heat.

                “Of course, Belle,” he emphasized her name on purpose, she knew he did, “I don’t catch acquaintances.” On that cryptic note, he limped heavily out of the library. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried something new here--a chat room between Cyrano and Belle. I'm not sure if it reads well, but I gave it my best shot. Let me know how you like it!

Chapter 9:

                Belle carried her laptop in her shoulder bag as she trudged toward Looking Glass.  The small café had Wi-Fi, and Cyrano was due a response for his gift.  She had purposefully left the rose in the vase at the library; she had difficulty thinking when she gazed at it, and she detested the idea of being an idle-headed fool over some silly (albeit gorgeous) flower.

                “Darling, you look as though you have had a trying day,” Jeff offered as she slipped out of her coat and hung it on the rack by the door. 

                Belle pursed her lips, “Not _trying_ really,” she explained, “just… _unexpected?”_ She tasted the word on her tongue, thought of cinnamon and tea, and decided it was appropriate, “unexpected,” she confirmed with a nod of her dark curls. 

                If anyone could sympathize with unexpected days, it was Jefferson Hatter.  “I have just the remedy for the unexpected,” he smiled and poured her a healthy measure of her favorite wine. 

                Belle smiled warmly as she accepted the wine and took her first sip, “Mmmm, now that is exactly what I needed.  I knew I should come here—somehow a cup of tea at home just didn’t seem sufficient.” She made her way over to the red roses couch and slipped off her shoes, curling her feet under her.  “And how was your day, Jeff?”

                Jefferson just rolled his dark brooding eyes, “Oh, same madness, different day,” he grumbled. He ran a hand through his tousled dark hair.

                “Trouble with Grace?” Belle guessed.

                “Not really trouble…” he sighed and busied himself straightening things about the café that were already very tidy.  Belle watching him carefully, Jeff’s daughter was always a touchy subject.  When his marriage failed, Jeff’s ex-wife had cut Jeff out of his daughter’s life.  Despite the small fortune he spent on legal fees, he only got to see Grace about once a month, and even then the visits were short and unsatisfying.  However, one of the reasons Jeff had installed Wi-Fi in the small café was so his daughter could skype him whenever she needed him.  Despite her mother’s disapproval, Grace saw her father almost every day via the internet.  He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he paused, “she… she has a crush on a boy in her class.”

                Belle’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, not over a young girl’s first crush, but by Jeff’s obvious distress, “And you’re … upset?”

                Jeff sighed again and sat down heavily next to Belle on the couch.  “No… she’s just growing up so fast, Belle,” he said with sadness, “and I’m missing it.”

                Belle set down her wine glass and, not knowing what else to say, pulled the father who was reluctant to let his little girl grow up into her arms. Their embrace was one of friendship and not amorous intent, and Belle felt no qualms at all about letting Jeff rest his head on her shoulder.  She felt slight moisture through the shoulder of her dress, and hugged him a little tighter as he sniffled.  “You listen to me, Jefferson Madden Hatter,” Belle said softly, her hand stroking his back, “you are a good father.  You are always there for Grace and she _loves_ you.” 

                He chuckled a little wetly into her shoulder, “You sound like my mother,” he chided.

                Belle pulled back and looked into his teary face, “She must be incredibly sensible then,” she commented dryly.

                Jeff pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his face, “Sensible…and just a little scary,” he confided.  Belle smiled fondly at Jeff as he pulled himself together and went to the back room, leaving her alone with her computer and her wine.

                Belle was thoughtful as she clicked onto the dating site and began composing a new email to Cyrano.

                _Dear Cyrano,_

_I found the rose this morning.  It’s beautiful and the quote was, of course, perfect. Thank you._

                Belle considered stopping her email there.  Her finger hovered over the send button for about thirty seconds before she found herself furiously typing. 

_Do you enjoy being so perfect and yet so perfectly unreachable? You have told me that you enjoy watching me, so did you enjoy my frustration today?_

_I researched that rose hoping it would lead me to you.  Well, I’m not an expert, but I don’t think that rose exists—at least not in the books I used. So, dead end.  Score one point for you._

_If you’re going to insist upon playing this game, you could at least play fair—give a girl a chance to actually figure something out!_

_I probably sound ungrateful, don’t I? I’m sorry; I really do love the gesture.  The rose is a beautiful conundrum—just like this whole situation._

_Another point to you for your use of symbolism,_

_Belle_

Before she could change her mind, she hit send and took a colossal gulp of her wine.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Gold was sitting in the back of his pawn shop feeling the effects of the rather large tumbler of whiskey and the pain pill he had taken on return from the library.  Gallant as his intention to catch Belle when she fell had been, the pain from his knee was fairly killing him. He knew he couldn’t drive in his current state of dizziness, so he waited out the buzzing in his ears on the computer.  He was pretty sure the rose was going to get him a response from Belle, and after their encounter in the library, he was eager to read it.

He leaned his head back in the comfortable computer chair with his leg propped out on the stool in front of him as he replayed that brief moment accidental of body contact in his mind.  She had been wearing a lovely dress of dusky purple—a tone that highlighted the reddish streaks in her hair and made her eyes glow an unearthly blue. Beyond the loveliness of the gown, it had been thinner (and shorter) than the frocks she used to wear at the Dark Castle though still considered appropriate in this world.  He had felt every curve through the material when she pitched into his arms: her breasts pressing against his chest, her thighs twisted with his own, the slight dip that was her waist—how was a man to keep a decent thought in his head when the women of this world wore such temptingly sheer outfits?

Though Rumplestiltskin and his caretaker had never done anything more scandalous than kiss—and fall madly in love—he was a man with a man’s desires.  Certainly, before Belle had come to his castle, he had made sure to find … suitable ways to cool his desires.  After all, magic and strategy demanded his full attention at all times, and there was nothing so distracting as lustful thoughts.  He had usually paid, and paid well, for the services of discreet ladies of the night.  There had been nothing tender in their encounters—merely the satisfaction of services rendered. He hadn’t needed emotional connection just a physical release those ladies provided. 

However, he hadn’t sought out those particular services since Belle came to Dark Castle.  Surely he had been more tormented than ever by his inventive imagination, but it hadn’t felt right to vent those passions on another, and he would never take what Belle wasn’t able to offer. So he had suffered in silence, and then the crazy girl had changed everything with True Love’s Kiss.  In the old world he couldn’t touch her without losing his magic.  In this world, he couldn’t touch her until he made her fall in love with him all over again, this time on purpose.  Which meant his future held a lot of cold showers and unsatisfactory masturbation.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, grinning at the foolish thoughts the combination of alcohol and pain killers brought to his mind.  When his mailbox indicated he had a new message, he sat up straighter and opened the email.  He couldn’t help the devilish grin that spread across his face as he read.  He could practically hear her seething as she wrote it.  Why was it so sexy to think of her, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing, as she wrote the email? So she wanted to play his game did she? Well, then, game on.

He poured himself another measure of whiskey (the hangover he was bound to get in the morning be damned) and composed his response.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Belle had decided to take her mind off the whole Cyrano mystery by having another glass of wine at Looking Glass and indulging in internet window shopping.  There was something soothing in looking at things she couldn’t buy and letting her muscles and mind get loose from the spicy wine. It surprised her when her inbox indicated that she had a new message.

She opened it and read:

_My dear Belle,_

_What makes you think I want to play fair?  I’m hardly perfect though I enjoy that you want to think so. However, if we’re counting points in our game, you should consider your own due._

_A point to you for deducing the rose isn’t a common one.  I do so enjoy your clever mind, and seeing how it works is part of the thrill for me. Another point to you for recognizing that I would be watching you today for your reaction. I wish that made us even._

_I did watch you today._

_Are you aware how desirable you are in your frustration? Do you know what it does to me to see you walking around town in your lovely dresses with your hair unbound, and then holding my rose? I want you all to myself.  “My soul be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own.” I find myself jealous of the smiles you give to others, though you give me plenty of my own._

_Jealously Yours,_

_Cyrano_

Belle found her heart pounding just a little faster than normal.  She pressed her hands to her heated cheeks. My, that email had been… passionate? Forceful? Maybe a little scary?  She wasn’t sure how to respond—how did you tell someone you hardly knew that his jealously gave her such a powerful high?

It was then that she noticed something about Cyrano’s icon on her screen—it was flashing green.  _He’s online, right now!_ Belle realized. _I wonder how he thinks on his feet…_ Taking another large gulp of wine, Belle hit the chat button on the website.

“Good evening, Cyrano.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Gold nearly choked on the congratulatory whiskey he was sipping.  He believed he had upped the stakes on their little word game with his last email.  At least she was going to know that he was serious in his intentions to pursue her. Then, the bloody woman opened a chat window.  He hadn’t even known that was a feature on this website.

He took a fortifying sip of his drink; there was no backing out of this now.  Though a distant part of him wondered if he would allow the chat to continue if he weren’t on his pain meds, he squashed his inner coward and steeled himself.

“Good evening, Belle.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Omigod—she was talking to Cyrano in real time! The wine sloshed dangerously amongst the butterflies in her stomach.

**Belle: That last email was intense.**

**Cyrano: I meant every word, my dear. I don’t intend to play fair, we’re nowhere near even, and I want you all to myself.**

Belle was embarrassed when she swallowed audibly while trying to clear her throat. Those drunken butterflies in her guts were making her nervous!

**Belle: If you really wanted me to yourself, you would play fair so I could even the score.**

**Cyrano: You misunderstand; I won’t play fair because you already have far too many points in your favor.  I really can’t hope to compete.**

**Belle: What do you mean?**

**Cyrano: Hmmmm either you are naïve or fishing for compliments. I’ll indulge you. You’re brilliant, you’re beautiful, and you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met. You’re out of my league.**

**Belle: I was NOT fishing for compliments! Though, thank you. I wish I could compliment you or comment on your league, but there’s that whole I-don’t-know-who-you-are-thing in my way.**

**Cyrano: Amusing. I’m still not going to tell you.**

Belle was close to throwing the computer through Jefferson’s lovely front window.  Cyrano was infuriating! Her long pause must have bothered him because he responded first.

**Cyrano: Are you still there, Belle?**

Oh, she was sorely tempted to turn the computer off and let him stew in his own juices for a while.  What stopped her was the fear that they might not have this opportunity to speak again.

**Belle: I’m here. I’m just thinking.**

**Cyrano: … I thought maybe I had driven you away.**

**Belle: Not yet. Give me a hint to your identity.  I know you already gave me the rose, but that’s a dead end. One hint, please?**

Cyrano was silent for a long time, but Belle could tell he was typing a response thanks to that handy feature on the chat screen.  However, it seemed he was either typing a novel or revising his thoughts a few times before she received his response.

**Cyrano: One hint, but you’ll have to figure it out where I drop it in the conversation.**

**Belle: Alright.**

**Cyrano: May I tell you a secret?**

**Belle: I wish you would.**

**Cyrano: Not that one, another one… I kissed the petals of the rose before I laid it at your doorstep the other night in the hopes that you would run the petals over your cheek. I fancied those kisses from my lips would transfer onto your smooth skin.  Every time you look at me, it knocks me over. Every time you smile I wonder if I kissed you, suddenly, if you would slap me away or pull me closer. I wonder if you would taste mellow and smooth with a hint of spice or sharp and tangy with a tingle of heat.**

Belle felt the air rush out of her lungs--it was such a romantic revelation that she was tingling all over.  She had always loved words, but to see these written to her—it was like she was living a romance novel. And she liked it. A lot.  _Two can play this game,_ she reasoned and closed her eyes for a moment to remember the perfect quote.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Gold was holding his breath—he wondered if his hint had been too obvious.  After all, she _had_ knocked him over that day, and he had commented on her taste at the Looking Glass. True, she probably thought he had meant the wine, but maybe she had figured it out and was staring at her computer, too stunned to respond? Was she horrified? The anxiety was killing him and he closed his eyes and took a calming breath. The chat box pinged and he opened his eyes, slowly.

**Belle: “And what is a kiss, specifically? A pledge properly sealed, a promise seasoned to taste, a vow stamped with the immediacy of a lip, a rosy circle drawn around the verb 'to love.'”**

Gold smiled with pride; that was his Belle.  He felt a blush creep up the back of his neck. He knew when he was being bated.  

**Cyrano: “A kiss is a message too intimate for the ear, infinity captured in the bee's brief visit to a flower, secular communication with an aftertaste of heaven, the pulse rising from the heart to utter its name on a lover's lip: 'Forever.”**

**Belle: That’s my favorite moment in the whole play :-)**

Gold smiled, only Belle would find a way to smile through a damned computer.

**Cyrano: I’m glad we could share that moment.**

Yes, it was a lovely moment, but he knew he would never be able to keep this little dance going.  He needed to sign off, limp home, and pass out for a few hours.

**Cyrano: I must be going. Enjoy your hint.**

**Belle: Goodnight, Cyrano. Sweet dreams.**

**Cyrano: If you’re in them, they will be.**

Gold quickly signed off before she could draw him back into the conversation. He wondered how long it would take her to solve his little puzzle. 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

Belle carefully wrapped up the muffins she had just pulled from the oven, hoping they would stay warm on the walk to Gold’s pawn shop.  It would only be about a five minute walk, but the temperature had dropped suddenly overnight—the winter not quite ready to give way to spring. 

She wasn’t working at the library that day, but Belle had dressed carefully for this meeting.  She wouldn’t admit to herself that she wanted to look nice for Nick, no, instead she told herself she wanted to look nice (but casual) because he was always so dapper in his suits.  Even though she was involved with Cyrano (she wasn’t even sure that was the right word), Nick Gold was proving to be as much of a distraction as her internet mystery.  She remembered the way his eyes had darkened with desire when he caught her—the unexpected response in her gut before the moment had ended in the abrupt heap on the library floor.  She wondered what would have happened in that abandoned library if the moment hadn’t ended.

Bearing the episode in mind, she donned her one pair of dark skinny jeans.  Though she usually preferred pencil skirts or light dresses, the jeans added to the relaxed impression she wanted to give.  She wore a large blue sweater that highlighted her eyes, and outlined her curvy form.  She matched the ensemble up with a pair of soft brown knee boots that did lovely things for her calves and a thin scarf with a fun blue and white pattern that added just a touch of interest to the outfit.  She was particularly pleased with it as she turned before the dressing mirror in her bedroom. 

Her makeup was light, but there—deepening her eyes and highlighting her cheekbones—she added just a touch of reddish lipstick to tie the look together. With her curls unbound and swinging, she looked carefree and confident—perfect. Now, if she could just convince her nervous system to calm down…

                She picked up her purse, the cheerful basket of muffins, and locked her door behind her.  Though the walk was not long, she found her feet dragging a little, those nervous system glitches making themselves more pronounced. It was fairly early in the morning, but the shop would be open. She wondered how he would take this morning visit, and plastered a determined smile on her face.  Outside the shop, she quickly ran a hand through her hair that looked a bit windblown in the shop windows and took a steadying breath.

                She opened the door to the clang of the bell, but found the front of the shop empty.  “Nick?” She looked around the dim interior—honestly, did the man even stand in the front of the shop? “Nick? It’s Belle,” she called.

                She didn’t dare enter the back of the shop; that was his territory.  No, this time she would wait for him to come to her. That was when she saw his bookshelf.  It was positively covered with old-looking books.  She set the basket of muffins on the counter and ran her hand reverently over the leather-bound spines.

                “Belle?” She heard him step into the front room.

                She smiled as she turned, keeping one hand on the books, “How did I miss these the last time I was here?”

                Gold smiled, “Well you were determined to be up to no good, as I recall.”

                “Ah, that must be it,” she chuckled.

                “What can I help you with this time? I have some lovely first editions up there if you’re in the market,” he nodded toward the bookshelf.

                “Actually, this is a social call,” Belle said as she walked slowly toward him.  She picked up the basket of muffins and offered it to Gold, “I brought you muffins.”

                He leaned a little toward the basket, but didn’t touch it.  He looked disgruntled and a little suspicious, “Why?” he asked arching one eyebrow.

                Her lips twitched traitorously—she wasn’t sure why his distrust was so amusing, but she was having a difficult time not laughing in his face. Did he think she wanted to poison him? She bit her bottom lip before she could smile, “I wanted to thank you for—saving me—at the library,” she stuttered. She blushed as he stared at her.

                “Mmmm,” he harrumphed, “I hardly saved you,” he adjusted the grip on his cane as he grumbled.

                “Well, I’m sure you saved me from at least a broken arm.”

                “More like a broken neck,” he replied snidely.

                This time she couldn’t prevent the grin, “Yea, probably.”

                He grinned shyly back at her and the moment seemed to stretch.  She took a step closer to him, and it seemed he leaned a bit closer.  She saw his eyes drop to her lips, and they parted of their own accord as her breath seemed to be sucked out of her.

                He leaned back brusquely as if embarrassed; “Would you care for a cup of tea?” his voice seemed rougher than it had been a moment ago.

                “Love one,” she said simply. He gestured for her to follow him and they entered his back room. 

                Though she had been there before, the last time she hadn’t been paying much attention because she had been so focused on getting a desk. His back room was like Ali Baba’s Cave, full of all manner of delights in various states of repair. There was even a battered lamp in the corner that looked as though Aladdin had thrown it down a set of concrete stairs.

                An awkward silence settled between them as she sat at the small work table he indicated and set her basket down upon it.  He bustled about, setting the kettle to boil and getting the tea things out.  She watched him as he went about the business of entertaining—unused to it as he was. He shrugged out of his jacket, leaving him in just a vividly purple shirt and tie.  She also noticed the stubble on his chin this morning.  Belle was never particularly attracted to facial hair—but Gold pulled it off rather well. She wondered if it would rub her chin raw if he kissed her.

She banished that notion as he set the tea service in front of her. Belle noticed the teacups didn’t match—an odd quirk for such a fastidious man. Her cup was an exquisite piece, no doubt an antique, with roses hand-painted on the side.  Gold’s cup was the oddity, white with a delicate blue pattern.

“It’s chipped,” she murmured, running her finger over the imperfection.  Something tickled at the back of her mind; suddenly her head hurt, dull and throbbing. 

“It’s just a cup,” he tried to shrug nonchalantly, though Belle could see tension in his hunched shoulders as he poured the tea.

“Why would you keep it?” she wondered aloud as the pounding increased in her temples.

“Perhaps it bears sentimental value,” he suggested, looking at her rather closely. “Are you alright, dearie?”

She scrunched her eyebrows together, and pressed a hand to her forehead, “My head…” she murmured. She felt dizzy, glad she was sitting down, as she stared at the small cup. “What sentimental value?” she asked, feeling as though the question was terribly important—though she really had no idea why.

Concern was written all over his face, his hazel eyes searching her features, but he answered, “A friend—it, belonged to her.”

Pain swirled behind her eyes and she squinted a little, his skin seeming to flash greyish green in her vision, “Her?”

“Yes,” he said tightly, he clearly didn’t relish this discussion.  “Belle, can I get you something? Aspirin, some water?”

“I’m okay,” she murmured, feeling the subject of this unusual conversation was vital—far more important than a headache, “A friend?” she indicated the cup.

Gold’s head hung a little, his shaggy hair hiding his face, “She was… she—died,” he croaked.

 “I’m sorry,” she breathed. The pain behind his eyes made her throat burn, and she grabbed one of his hands, squeezing gently and wondered why she expected it to be rough rather than the smooth warmth she grasped. Suddenly the headache cleared, “So, Nicholas Gold has a sentimental side?”

Gold smirked, relieved to see her face relax as the pain left her, carefully tugging his hand out of her own, “Tying to learn all the monster’s secrets?”

Belle pulled a face, “Oh no, my covert plan is uncovered,” she teased. “Besides, you’re not a monster—monsters don’t catch fair damsels, they eat them.”

Gold snickered and opened the muffin basket, sniffing appreciatively, “Did you make these?” The change of subject lightened the mood, the moment of headache behind them.

“I did,” Belle preened, just a little, “my mother’s recipe—cinnamon roll muffins with cream cheese icing.”

“I love cinnamon,” he said, taking a muffin, “how did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” she replied avoiding his gaze as she took a muffin for herself. There was no way she would reveal that she had smelled (all but tasted) the cinnamon on his breath at their last encounter.

A silence fell between them as they ate their muffins and drank their tea—not uncomfortable, just quiet. “The muffins are delicious,” Gold commented as he reached for a second.

Belle smiled triumphantly, “I’m glad you like them.”

He looked down suddenly as he swallowed his mouthful, “Why are you really here, Belle?”

Gold looked so vulnerable, Belle struggled to find the right words, “Well, first, I wanted to thank you. And…”

“And?” he looked at her, his hazel eyes burning into her blue.

She swallowed heavily, “And … I wanted to see you.” She blushed, she sounded like a silly girl with a crush.

He leaned closer to her, in what should be her personal space (he seemed to be in her personal space a lot, not that she minded), “Why?” he breathed.

“I—uh--,” she said brilliantly.  She felt herself leaning toward him; her eyes were flitting between his searching eyes and his lips. She knew she was breathing heavily—she couldn’t be misreading these signals could she? She leaned just a bit nearer, but she didn’t want to scare him away so she stopped, her eyes fluttering closed as she let him cross the final distance.

Finally, she felt his lips brush softly over hers.  She whimpered as the kiss deepened, slanting her lips over his.  When his tongue slid lightly against her lips, begging entrance, she parted her lips as he groaned his pleasure.  She made a small keening noise and the kiss delved deeper, tongues sparing against each other sending shivers through her limbs. His whiskers scraped over her tender skin exciting her. Her hand crept up to thread through his hair, it was so soft against her fingertips, and her nails ran lightly over his scalp.  His moan reverberated through her mouth, and one hand gripped her at the nape of the neck, while the other slid to her waist. 

Attempting to move closer, Belle found herself shifting forward, when Gold surprised her by grabbing her and lifting her onto his lap.  Thank God she had worn the jeans today, she thought as straddled him in the chair.  His lips traced her jawline, his tongue flicked her ear, and then her head fell back as his mouth nipped down her neck.  In her current position, she felt the evidence of his desire for her pressing against her inner thigh, and she felt an answering heat through her limbs, curling suggestively low in her abdomen. She sought out his lips again, sucking his bottom lip between hers. His hands were gliding over her, learning her shape, when her senses returned.

“Nick,” she breathed, as he started licking at her collarbone, yanking aside her sweater.

“Belle,” he responded, dragging her lips to his and plundering her mouth. 

His tongue was swirling against hers in the most distracting way when she pulled back, “Wait,” she said, and put a hand to his chest.

Gold froze, eyes downcast, “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to back away (hard to do with her nestled on his lap).

“I’m not,” she said breathlessly, “I’ve wanted this for a while—“

He made a primal noise that liquefied her lady parts, and leaned in to kiss her again.

“No, wait,” she pushed against him, “it’s just—you should know—I’m sort of—seeing someone…”

Gold froze again, this time she felt the ice in his tone, “That’s different tune than you were singing yesterday.”

Belle blushed, he was right, “I know, it uh—he, that is, he just—informed me of his—intentions last night,” Stars, if she tripped over her words anymore he was going to think she was impaired.

If Belle didn’t know better, she would swear the green in Gold’s hazel eyes became more prominent, “And yet,” he whispered dangerously, “here you… sit.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you—“ she gulped and tried again, “I mean you never said anything…”

“And who is this lucky bastard,” Gold gritted between his teeth.

Feeling it was entirely inappropriate to discuss one man while sitting on another’s lap, Belle pushed herself to her feet, “He’s a friend.”

“Jefferson,” Gold hissed, fuming and looking away.

Belle stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, “Oh no,” she snorted, she couldn’t help it, “Jeff?! No way!” Belle managed to curb her enthusiasm to a smile, and reached out to Gold. “Jeff is just a friend.  The… lucky bastard,” she said softly, “is someone I’ve been talking to for a while.”

Gold’s eyes suddenly lit with understanding, “The rose?”

“Yes,” Belle said carefully, “he gave me the rose.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Gold could not be hearing her correctly—she wasn’t kissing him any longer because she was seeing Cyrano—him? Gods, this was biting him in the arse, now wasn’t it? He licked his lips, her flavor was still in his mouth driving him mad, “I thought you didn’t know who he was?”

Belle looked down, “we’ve been communicating through a website.”

Gold picked up his teacup, her teacup really, and sipped carefully, “You realize he could be anyone? Belle, that’s not safe!” He was damned if he was going to be a hindrance to himself.

Her spine stiffened, her chin lifted, “I didn’t tell you so you could jump to conclusions,” she said defensively, “I told you because I didn’t want to lie to you. You deserve more respect than that from me.”

The whole situation should be laughable, except it felt like it was cutting him to shreds, “So, you’re informing me that you’re playing the field?” His accent got thicker when he was angry. And he was angry—the anger was tightly leashed, but there.

Belle’s face drained of color, and he could see that he had wounded her.  The look in her eyes left him feeling icicles down the back of his neck, “I’m sorry you took it that way; I suppose I shouldn’t have told you; it was a mistake coming here.” She grabbed her purse and turned toward the door, “Enjoy your muffins,” she said too calmly, too carefully.

He sat very still as he heard the front door of his shop bang shut, stunned at the shift in moods in the past five minutes.  His world had been turned upside down—again. Belle had come here, kissed him, and promptly flattened him—because of his other pseudonym. Gold knew he was his own worst enemy, but this was ridiculous.

There was also that disturbing moment of her headache.  Being the town pawnbroker, he recognized that painfully stunned look Belle had sported sitting at his table.  It happened every time someone recognized a thing that had belonged to them before the curse had taken place.  His shop contained many objects the curse had brought with them into this world.  A good portion of his business came from people’s desperate desire to repossess the objects that did not belong in the memories the Queen had stuffed into everyone’s head.  As their old identities tried to wrestle with the new, most people experienced quite the migraine, and the occasional flash from their past lives.  His greatest fear was the Belle would remember, everything, before he could win her love again—if she remembered how he had thrown her love away…

He limped out to the front of the shop, turned the sign to close, locked the door, and went back to his work table.  Then he sat down heavily… and started laughing.  It wasn’t a pleasant laugh, it streaked tears down his face and bordered on hysteria, but it created the catharsis that cleared his head after a few minutes. So Belle wanted to pursue both him and Cyrano—he had to be able to turn this to his advantage. He staggered a little, giggling still, and sat down at his computer to begin typing. 


	11. Chapter 11

“Wait… I’m sorry… can we back the truck up for minute?” Emma choked on her sangria.  “Did—did you just say…” she swung her curly blonde head to stare open-mouthed at Mary Margaret and Red, “Did she just say--?!”

Belle’s face, already rosily flushed from the amount of sangria they had gone through at their impromptu girl’s night, reddened further. “Yes I did.”

Mary Margaret’s face was a mask of absolute astonishment, “Belle—I mean—when?”

“This morning in the back of his shop,” Belle said carefully avoiding eye contact.

Ruby look speculatively at her, surprised, but not horrified by Belle’s announcement, “Well that explains why you wanted all of us to come over here—stat—and the junk food and sangria.  We need to hear the play-by-play.” She eyed the other two girls, giving them her best, oh-seriously-get-with-the-program-ladies look.  “So? Tell us how it happened.”

Still keeping her eyes downcast, Belle related her misadventure to the pawn shop that morning, which meant she also had to explain the infamous library catch/tumble in order to explain why she had felt the need to take him thank-you-muffins in the first place. When had her life gotten so complicated? She munched on a cheese drenched French fry that Ruby had provided from the diner as the girls absorbed the situation.

“Wow,” Emma gulped.

Mary Margaret got a little dreamy-eyed, “So, he really caught you?”

“Yea,” Belle smiled fondly.

“Is he a good kisser?” Ruby asked salaciously.

“Ruby!” Mary Margaret squeaked, swatting the younger brunette on the arm, “that’s _private_!”

Belle smiled at Mary Margaret’s defense, “No, it’s okay.” Her eyes searched the ceiling of her small apartment as if the words would appear on the rafters.  “He’s a really good kisser… It got really hot there for a minute,” Belle confessed.

Ruby grinned, “I guess there’s something to be said for a man with experience,” she nudged Belle who grinned in agreement.

Emma snorted, “He ought to have plenty of experience—how old is he anyway?”

Belle shrugged, “It doesn’t matter.” At Emma’s raised eyebrow, she shrugged, “I’ve always been attracted to older men.  Guys our age just don’t do it for me—never have. I even put that on my online profile.”

“When we were in high school Belle used to have the biggest crush on our Phys Ed teacher—what was his name?” Ruby teased.

“Mr. Frederick,” Belle mumbled and covered her head with her hands.

The girls laughed and Mary Margaret picked up the conversation as Belle tried to pick up her dignity, “So what happened after the steamy kiss with Gold?”

“I stopped him and told him about Cyrano,” Belle groaned in dismay.

“You did WHAT?!” Ruby exclaimed.

“I think I had an aneurism—it’s the only explanation,” Belle lamented. “I don’t know, I just couldn’t lie to him.”

“I get it,” Emma said slowly, “It would have been dishonest to continue without letting him know that he wasn’t the only man in your life.” She nodded, “I understand. Bet he didn’t take it well, though.”

Belle shook her head miserably, “It wasn’t _what_ he said… it was his _tone_ ….”

“What did he say, sweetie?” Mary Margaret, ever the mom of the group, grasped Belle’s hand.

“He sort of implied that maybe I was a little too free with my favors,” Belle mumbled.

Emma slammed down her sangria glass, “Okay, I’ll get the tar—Ruby you’re on feather duty.”

“Understood,” Ruby all but growled, her eyes flashing.

Belle smiled, her eyes stinging with tears at her friends’ loyalty, “He’s not wrong.”

“Yes he is,” Mary Margaret snapped, her other hand squeezed Belle’ shoulder to take the sting from the outburst, “You’re young and vibrant and desirable, and why shouldn’t you be dating lots of men? You have the right to see whomever you want; it’s not a crime!” The defiance in Mary Margaret’s voice seemed a little out of proportion to the current situation—but then her recent branding as the town harlot had left emotional wreckage in its path, “You were trying to be open and honest and _he_ is an asshole.”

Hearing the prim Mary Margaret call Gold as asshole (though she may have been referring to the entire male species thanks to the David-affair-fiasco) startled Belle into laughter, “See, I _knew_ you guys would understand.”

Ruby and Mary Margaret smiled, but Emma frowned thoughtfully, “So what has been going on with Cyrano lately?” At Belle’s blank look, Emma continued, “You felt the need to stop a very real life interaction for an online interaction…” Belle blushed at the word “interaction” to describe the heated moment in Gold’s office, but Emma pressed on, “So has something else happened with Cyrano?”

“Sorta,” Belle shrugged, “we chatted on the website—“

“In real time?” Ruby squeaked, scooting forward on her chair in excitement, “details!”

Belle grinned at her friends’ rapt attention, “Well here,” she said, fetching her laptop, “I have the conversation saved.”

As her friends read the screen, alternately squealing and gasping dramatically at the language (well, Emma didn’t squeal or gasp, she glared at the screen and lifted eyebrows), Belle refilled their refreshments because she needed to do something with her hands. She knew her friends weren’t going to judge her for sappy romance, but it was still a little embarrassing.

“Oh, Belle,” Ruby breathed, her brown eyes shining with adoration, “this guy doesn’t think he’s worthy of you.”

“And the way he talks about the rose,” Mary Margaret made a noise suspiciously like a sniff, “like he’s trying to create a physical bond with you from a distance…”

“Do you think the hint is in the quote?” Emma asked abruptly.  Belle had to smile at Emma’s no-nonsense attitude; Belle knew Emma really did have a soft side, but it wasn’t to be found in other people’s romance—no, Emma would focus on the mystery.

“I think so,” Belle said, “although I’m not sure because I’m the one who initiated the quote.”

“Yea, but he’s the one who brought up kissing…” Emma pointed out, “And that’s the best quote about kissing in the play…” The three other girls stared at her, mouths agape, “What?!” she said defensively, “I read the play in high school.”

“That’s quite a memory you have,” Belle mentioned casually—she had been trying to get Emma to come to the library since it reopened, hearing that Emma was reading at all was exciting.

Emma looked away, “I may have googled quotes from the play when he started inserting them into your conversation; just in case I needed to know more details when he turns out to be a crazy-stalker-man,” she huffed.

While Mary Margaret and Ruby exclaimed over Emma’s lack of romantic spirit, Belle put her arm around her blonde friend and squeezed, “Thanks for looking out for me,” she said fondly, “though I do wish you had checked out the book.”

Emma smiled, “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” and they all shared a laugh.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Gold scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes.  He had been staring at the computer screen, off and on, for the better part of the day and night.  When Belle had left him achy and wanting this morning, he had written several emails he had deleted before he could send them—they hadn’t been right. 

Deciding that maybe he needed some air, he had gone around collecting his rents.  His already sour disposition had worsened when most of his tenants weren’t at home.  _Of course they weren’t at home_ , he derided himself, _it was only three o’clock in the afternoon and most people had jobs to pay the rent._ His unsatisfactory outing left him feeling foolish—something he hadn’t felt in a very long time and was as unpleasant as he remembered.

Gold ran hands through his already disheveled hair as he thought back to that morning. He let his head drop to the back of the chair as he relived the brush of Belle’s lips over his, the slippery friction of her tongue dancing with his, and the way her body had felt cradled in his lap.  She had been so warm and so responsive; he had felt like a bumbling schoolboy—not sure where to put his hands, though he had known where he _wanted_ to put them. Back at Dark Castle they had only ever shared the one kiss—and he had only held her in his arms to keep her from falling to her doom—though he loved Belle with every fiber of his being, he had vastly underestimated his body’s response to her nubile self.

He had cursed himself every kind of fool as he had tried, unsuccessfully, to compose the perfect email from Cyrano; he had finally given up after he had hit the “delete” button too many times to count. He had walked away from the computer again, though it mocked him out of the corner of his eyes. Gold knew there was an angle to work here—he was the only two players in the game, surely he could manipulate a way out of this ridiculous love triangle.

 _Was it even a love triangle if two of the sides of the triangle were the same person?_  Gold snickered at his own thought process—he must be tired if he was laboring the metaphor in his own brain. He tinkered with several projects in the back room, cursing when he scraped his knuckles on old cogs and gears and not really seeing the bits and pieces he was putting back together as he plotted. 

He always got the best response out of his girl when he prodded in just the right way.  The flower had done it, as had the quotes and emails.  What should his next poke be and how should it be delivered? What would Cyrano do in this situation?

Suddenly, Gold’s head snapped up—he knew exactly what Cyrano would do in this situation.  A crafty smile curled his lips as the wheels in his brain started to spin.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was late by the time Belle bid her girlfriends goodnight—it was after midnight, and most of them had work in the morning. She looked longingly toward her bedroom, but she just wasn’t tired yet.  She felt strangely energized though it was late. 

She settled at her computer with anticipation building in her stomach, but to her disappointment, she did not have an email from Cyrano waiting for her.  Belle wondered at Cyrano’s silence as she reluctantly prepared for bed. Tonight she decided to wear one of her favorite night gown and robe sets.  Normally she reserved that particular set for when she knew she would be having overnight company; however, she wanted to feel the softness of the satiny material and the lace against her skin. The color was a rich purplish blue with creamy lace; it was flattering, feminine, and unpractical for sleeping alone.

Belle wasted time before going to bed—washing the dishes from earlier and picking up random clutter for no apparent reason other than to avoid sleep.  She finally settled into her favorite window seat with a battered copy of _Jane Eyre_ in her lap.  She had been re-reading the book for her own pleasure, and tonight she was pouring over the part with the mysterious laughter from the attic and the unexpected blaze in Mr. Rochester’s room.

It was no wonder, with that spooky reading material playing in her imagination, that the clunk against the glass made her squeak in alarm.  Heart pounding, Belle peered into the darkness to see what had made the noise against her window.  Maybe a bird had flown into the glass? Suddenly the clunk repeated itself—someone was throwing pebbles at her window!

Banishing thoughts about creepy laughter and mad women in attics, Belle hesitantly pushed open the window and looked out into the darkness, “Hello?” she called softly.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Gold had waited over an hour for the party at Belle’s apartment to finally end.  He would have come back another night, but he figured that his charade would only work better on a boozy Belle, so he waited.  His patience paid off as he watched the three girls walk down the street with the extreme caution of those who were slightly more-than-tipsy. 

He had watched Belle, waiting with pebbles in hand till she came close enough to the window to hear him tapping.  When she had curled in the window seat with her book, he had watched her carefully—she couldn’t be that drunk if she was reading so he must be clever.  He decided it was time to act, and tossed a pebble at the window frame.  It took another pebble before Belle opened the window and said, “Hello?”

He gathered the darkness around him, deepening the shadows, concealing himself as only the Dark One could in the night. Adopting a more Americanized accent—to help hide his brogue, he spoke, altering text to suit his needs, “’Night has come… In the dusk [my words] grope their way to find your ear…’”

She did not speak for one heartbeat… two… she was killing him.

“ _Cyrano?!_ ” she whispered urgently to the darkness. 

Gold smiled, confident she couldn’t see him though her eyes were combing the night outside her window.  True, her window seat was not technically a balcony, but he wanted to woo her and it didn’t get more romantic than this. 

“Good evening, Belle,” he said carefully dampening his accent, “You look lovely tonight.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Belle strained her eyes trying to see him, but all she saw was the shifting shadows in the moonlight, “I—I can’t see you,” she said.

“’You see the dark folds of my shrouding cloak, And I, the glimmering of your dress: I but a shadow—you a radiance fair!” he recited with such reverence that Belle felt herself blushing.  She was ridiculously pleased she had chosen the nightgown set tonight.

“I wondered why I didn’t get an email tonight,” she grinned.

“I decided it was time that we had a conversation in person,” replied the disembodied voice.

“Is it really in person when we aren’t face-to-face?” Belle inquired, tucking her hair behind her ear. She was trying to find a comfortable way to crouch near her window—luckily she remembered the top pane could be folded inward when she wanted to clean it.  She adjusted so she was now leaning out of the top of the window more comfortably.

“I’m far braver in the dark, Belle,” he said so quietly she leaned farther out of the window to catch his words.  “In this way I can tell you all the tender things I always wanted to say to you.”

“Like what?” she asked leaning her head on her arm.

“Like that as long as you’re alive, I’m a living, breathing man,” he spoke so passionately Belle trembled. “You’re the light and the air. I was lost without you.”

Belle swallowed, “That’s not from the play,” her whisper was ragged with emotion.

“No, sweetheart, that one was an original,” she could _hear_ him smiling.

Her heart was pounding, so this was what it felt like to be the girl in the balcony… _Juliet and Roxanne eat your heart out_ , she thought. Guilt followed quickly on the heels of elation, “There’s something you should know.”

“Oh?”

“I’m s--,” she faltered, she wasn’t really “seeing” Nick, “—there’s, uh, there’s someone else in my life, too.  I’m not even sure if it is something, but—I thought you should know.”

“I didn’t think I was the only person fighting for your attention,” Cyrano crooned, “I’m prepared for a little competition. ‘I—I am going to be a storm—a flame—I need to fight whole armies alone; I have ten hearts; I have a hundred arms; I feel too strong to war with mortals—bring me giants!’”

Belle smiled, “Well, if you feel that strongly… then, how about another clue?”

A chuckle floated up to her, “So eager to end the mystery?”

“So eager to continue it?”

Another chuckle, “What if I promise to come see you tomorrow?”

Belle lifted an eyebrow, “That sounds too good to be true.”

“Well, I didn’t say you would know it was me—but it would narrow the guesses down wouldn’t it?”

Belle considered, “Alright—I agree.”

“Then the deal is struck,” he murmured.

Something about the way he had said that seemed hauntingly familiar—and a vague pain crept behind her eyes.  Uh oh, maybe the sangria was causing an early hangover?  Belle decided it was time to seek her bed, “Good night then, Cyrano.”

“Sleep sweet, my Belle.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long--slight spolier alert for anyone who hasn't read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (and shame on you--go read it IMMEDIATELY).
> 
> As always--PLEASE let me know what you think!

Belle awoke abruptly the next morning, the trailing memory of the dream floating around in her head.  There had been a man, only he hadn’t been a man—she couldn’t remember what he looked like, only that his presence was intimidating. He had stalked around her as she went about menial tasks—she was never really sure when he was there and when he wasn’t as she swept a floor or opened an oven door. He had mocked her as she swung her head around, trying to get a clear view of him.  It had been as infuriating as it was frightening. 

Her head throbbed when she tried to remember more of the dream, and the dark smudges beneath her eyes in her pale face spoke of a restless night and too much sangria.  Attempting to feel a bit more human, she trudged toward the shower and turned the water up to scalding.  It was as she was scrubbing her hair that Belle remembered that she would be seeing Cyrano at some point that day.  Belle grinned ferociously and mentally combed through her wardrobe choices. 

Feeling refreshed, she paid careful attention to her makeup and left her hair loose (as Cyrano had once mentioned he liked it) and slipped into a pleated skirt, a white button-up blouse with a white lacy camisole layered under it, dark tights, and a pair of booted stilettos.  It was a look Ruby had once termed librarian-chic—professional woman with just a hint of sex. Belle gave her reflection an approving look and left for the library with a spring in her step. 

It wasn’t until Belle opened the library doors and saw the posted notices she had put up a week ago that she groaned.  This afternoon was her monthly book club—of course Cyrano had said he would see her today, half the town was participating because the club was making its way through the _Harry Potter_ series.  Many of the participants were families, but some participants came for something to do on a weeknight—well, that and the free food.

Belle shook her head at her own preoccupation, _Point to you, Cyrano, well played._  

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

It was much easier to blend in at Belle’s book club than Gold had expected.  One reason was that the library was full to bursting with families and friends clutching their books.  A few of the young ones had even dressed the part—coming in robes and waving around wooden wands while screeching out bits of Latin. Gold couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips—the people of this magic-less world were certainly taken with their bookish version of wizards.  Little did they know that no real wizard would have been caught dead in those get ups—and real magic practitioners (excepting fairies, and he didn’t really count them anyway) did not need to use wands to channel their crafts. He enjoyed the concept of a magic school; what glorious chaos that would be—wands or no wands.

The other reason it was so easy to blend in was because most of the people here did not want to see him. It was amazingly easy to maneuver through (and therefore hide in) a crowd of people that placed him within his own little bubble of avoidance. 

Amidst the rest of the Storybrooke citizens, Gold watched Belle rush around—soothing anxiety here (someone hadn’t finished reading, tsk, tsk), adding an encouraging smile there, and just generally working the room.  She tossed back her mahogany curls and laughed at something the damned cricket said while Archie turned as red as his hair.  He knew the two had decided not to see each other, but Gold couldn’t help the knee-jerk jealousy he felt in his gut.  Gold also saw Jefferson floating around with his daughter—the Hatter fluttered around the young girl as though she would evaporate before his eyes.  Just as Gold had predicted, there was quite a crowd of both attached and unattached men in attendance tonight—allowing him the anonymity he wished while at the same time giving him the chance to see Belle (and therefore not breaking his deal).

Just as Belle slipped behind a book shelf and out of his line of sight, Gold slipped into Belle’s office. He left the door slightly ajar, just as he had found it, and limped over to her desk.  He had to congratulate himself on how well the antique desk looked in her office—it was exactly suited to his Belle and made the space hers.  Knowing he was in her personal space was slightly thrilling, as was seeing his wilted rose on the desk.  He could smell her in here; the sweet scent that shimmered in the air was uniquely Belle.  He saw little touches of her everywhere—pictures of her and her girlfriends, the spare shoes (flats, he noted) peeking out from under her desk—it all spoke of the strong and sensible woman he adored.

Grinning because he was about to poke at her again, he waved his hand and half a dozen roses appeared on Belle’s desk.  They were, of course, the same species of rose he had conjured before—making them just as untraceable, but these were prettily wrapped in tissue paper and without a note.  There was no need for a note; she would know who they were from, and it would drive her to distraction which was exactly what he wanted.

Considering it a job well done, Gold shuffled back into the large crowd and helped himself to a cup of coffee.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Belle had stopped short (not as easy as it sounds on four inch heels) when she spotted Gold amidst the rest of the crowd in the library.  She hadn’t seen him since the delicious disaster of a kiss in his back office—was that only yesterday?  He wore one of his typical suits—crisply tailored and reeking of wealth and influence. Through a conscious effort of will, Belle plastered a smile on her face and forced her feet to move forward. She wasn’t exactly sure of the situation’s protocol.  How did one interact with a man with whom one had shared a passionate kiss and who had then summarily rejected her? Well, she would be damned before she would let Gold think she was affected by his presence. Even if she was affected…

She walked past him just like she walked past everyone—though she really only ignored him on the outside. She felt him move around the library wherever she stood; he was the counterpoint to her melody, almost moving whenever she did, but she refused to look his way to see if he was watching her. 

Deciding she needed to begin the book club, Belle quickly strode to her office to get her copy of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ so she could reference the pages she had marked for discussion.  She walked into her office and stopped just inside the door, seething.  There, perfectly placed on her enchanting desk was lovely bunch of roses.  Pursing her lips, Belle stalked toward them and quickly searched for another note.  There wasn’t one, but then a note wasn’t really needed.

 _Go ahead and guess who_ , Cyrano’s roses seemed to mock her, _we’re not telling._

He was here, right now.  Belle quickly patted her hair and checked her makeup.  He was watching her and baiting her with the flowers.  _Message received, Cyrano_ , Belle thought testily. She relented enough to give the roses one quick sniff—their fragrance rich and sweet like their deep maroon color—and stepped back into the chaos of the library with the large book tucked under her arm.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

“I wouldn’t have expected to see you Skulking around the library, Gold,” he heard from behind him. 

Recognizing the voice of the Royal Pain Herself, Gold turned and gave Regina a smile that dropped the temperature in the room by several degrees, “Well, Madam Mayor, perhaps I enjoy modern literature.”

Regina snorted as she curled her scarlet lip, “I’d hardly classify it as literature.”

“Oh, Mayor Mills,” Belle popped out from behind Regina with exaggerated effervescence, “I have to respectfully disagree.  The Harry Potter books are wonderful children’s stories to be sure, but like The Narnia series, they have a rich undertone that teens and adults also enjoy. The literary merit of the series is actually something I’m going to ask the adults who are here without families to discuss tonight—if you’d care to join that circle,” Belle practically chirped, using the full wattage of her blue eyes against Regina’s baleful glare. 

“Well, I’m here with Henry, of course,” Regina huffed.

“Oh, I know,” Belle beamed, “but I thought you would like to know that the town council’s funding is not being poorly used on frivolous book choices. If you wanted to join the adult group, I’m sure Emma would be happy to keep an eye on Henry in the family group.” The smile on Belle’s face took on the keen edge of a razor, and Gold had to look very hard at the tiled pattern on the floor not to burst into laughter.  His brave Belle took no prisoners when it came to the written word, and Regina’s criticism of the book club fell under Belle’s protection. Belle and Regina locked eyes in the way that powerful women do—scrupulously polite, and yet cutting each other to ribbons with smiles and kind phrases.

“No, thank you, Miss French,” Regina sneered, “I’ll join my son with the rest of the families.”  The mayor clipped away on high pumps and Belle relaxed slightly watching her go.

“I didn’t realize you and the mayor were at odds,” Gold commented offhandedly.

Belle rolled her eyes, “Ever since I reopened the library with a smattering of town council funding, she feels the need to stick her nose into everything I do here.” She turned and suddenly seemed to realize with whom she was speaking and cleared her throat, “Excuse me, please,” she said softly and walked away.

Gold winced at the distant tone she used and the stiffness in her body language—he deserved that. He watched as Belle began organizing the large group of people into an adults’ group and a families’ group.  Gold breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that Belle would be heading up the adult group, and limped over to grab a seat in the circle.

 XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

“I still can’t see how you can defend him,” Granny threw up her hands in disgust, “he did horrible things—unforgivable things,” she boxed up the left over cookies as if chocolate chips offended her.

“—I think there’s a piece of the puzzle we don’t know yet,” Belle argued just as passionately, lugging chairs back into storage, “there has to be motivation for doing what he does—otherwise why would he act as he did, _say_ the things he says—“

“I think you just want a good guy where there ain’t no good guy,” Leroy shifted the table he was carrying to the back room.

Belle smiled at the gruff man, “Well, I do love a bad boy,” and the others laughed.  Gold watched from the shadows between stacks, feeling his throat constrict as she continued, “But, I still think there’s more to Snape then meets the eye.” The book club had gone well that night, so well that the people who volunteered to stay and help clean up were still arguing the main points. 

Gold had been very impressed with the intellectual conversation that had stemmed from what was classified as a children’s book.  While several themes had been discussed, the debate kept circling back to whether or not this Snape character was the villain. It seemed the only person in the whole group on Snape’s side was Belle. Her quick mind helped her vehemently defend the shady professor in the tale, and the parallels to his own life were not lost on him.  The size of the woman’s heart knew no bounds.

Gold hung back and watched as Belle continued to interact with the others; he knew he wouldn’t be welcome in their conversation, but he would wait to have his own time with Belle. He remained unnoticed as she said goodnight to the others and waved them out before heaving a sigh.  Running two hands through her thick hair, Belle meandered back to her office. 

He found her sitting at her desk, one hand cradling her head while the other lightly touched the bundle of roses he had placed there earlier.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

“Why do you defend a villain and yet seem so surprised when everyone fights you on it?” Gold asked quietly, leaning on the doorframe of her office.

Belle had jumped out of her skin when he started talking and let out a little squeak of alarm, “Oh _stars_ , you startled me!” She clapped a hand to her heart and tried to slow her breathing as she came around the desk, “I thought I was alone,” Belle murmured, blushing a little.

Gold stepped carefully toward her, just close enough to be in her personal space, but not so close that she was uncomfortable. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it, and looking as though he was trying to find the right words, “I—want to—I mean—I thought we should talk.”

Belle’s eyebrows lifted in surprise though she groaned internally.  No one (EVER) wanted to hear the phrase “we should talk.” She mentally prepared herself to be dumped—and then mentally berating herself because how could he dump her? They weren’t dating! “Is that why you came here tonight? To talk to me?”

“That’s one reason,” he said softly, not quite meeting her eyes with his hazel ones.

 “What’s the other reason?” Belle asked.  When it became clear he didn’t want to answer she teased with a small smile, “You were skulking around at the edges of my peripheral vision all night. I kept spinning in circles trying to find out where you were.” Belle sat down on the top of her desk with a groan, “It reminded me of a weird dream I had last night,” she rubbed at her temples trying to fight the headache that was brewing.

“That’s the second time this evening I’ve been accused of skulking,” he sounded mildly irritated as his hands played over the top of his cane, “I don’t think I particularly care for it.” He hesitated, looking at her through the slight curtain of his hair, “Was it—a nice dream?”

                “No, not really,” Belle breathed quietly.  She tried to focus on what she was saying, but her mind was trying to make sense of his behavior.  If he was trying to end their bizarre relationship, why was he making small talk? “I—um—was in this really big house.  I don’t know why I know it’s big, I couldn’t really see anything,” she shrugged, and leaned infinitesimally closer to him, “but I know it’s big. And there was a man in the darkness, I never saw or heard him, I just _knew_ he was there.  Like tonight with you,” she explained, “I knew the minute you walked in—like the air pressure changes around me or something.” Belle fully realized how pathetic that statement made her sound, but she just couldn’t seem to stop babbling at him, “But—uhh—in the dream, I couldn’t ever see him.  I kept trying to see him, but it was like no matter how quickly I turned my head, he just wouldn’t be there.” She shivered, looking down at her clasped hands, “It creeped me out a little,” she confessed.

                “Does that mean I…creep you out?” Gold’s voice tripped over the unfamiliar phrase.

                “Oh, Nick, no!” Belle covered her face with her hands in mortification, “Uh, this is a disaster,” came the muffled phrase through her fingers.

                Changing the subject, Gold nodded toward the flowers from Cyrano, “I take it those are from the internet man?”

                Belle lowered her hands, trying to catch on to his sudden change in conversation, “Yes, and no I still haven’t met him,” she blushed.

                “Ah,” Gold said slowly, stepping carefully to where she was perched on the desk, “so he didn’t give those to you in person, then?”

                “No,” Belle said softly as she warily watched Gold place himself in front of her. “Why?”

                “Trying to learn about the competition, dearie,” Gold said lightly, “and then exploit his weaknesses.”

                Belle felt her eyes widen, “Oh?”

                “Indeed,” Gold explained as though they were talking about an object of interest in his shop, “for instance, his biggest advantage is the mystery he offers,” he gestured with one hand as though weighing the scales between himself and Cyrano. “However, I have something of an advantage myself,” he said and leaned closer.

                “And what’s that?” Belle breathed—he was so close she could smell the cinnamon on his breath again.

                “He can’t do this,” Gold’s nimble hand snaked into Belle’s hair, and cruised to the nape of her neck. With a tug, he pulled her lips against his. Seated as she was, Belle was the same height as Gold, and he took advantage of their position to place himself between her legs as they dangled off the desk.  His body was pressed flush against hers as he angled the kiss to take it deeper. 

This was not like the first experimental tangle of lips and tongue they had indulged in his shop.  Belle felt him groan into her mouth as he feasted on her, tipping her head back with the force of his onslaught and the pressure of his hand griping the back of her neck.  Her eyes nearly crossed when his teeth scraped against her sensitive bottom lip.  On a strangled little whimper, Belle fought back, fisting a hand in his shaggy hair, and wrapping her legs around his hips. Belle let her nails dig in to his back and scrape roughly against his suit jacket. His breath hissed between his teeth, and he raked his stubble down her neck as his tongue made wicked designs at the juncture of her neck and shoulders.

Belle let all the worry that had plagued her from the Cyrano situation drain out of her as she whispered out, “Oh, stars, Nick, please don’t stop.”

The sound he made against her collarbone was not really human, and it pleased a fundamental part of her that he could lose such control because of her actions. It made her tighten her legs around him, pulling his hips tight against her.

“Oh my Belle,” he whispered in that wicked accent, “I love the way you taste,” to prove it he ran his tongue up the other side of her neck and took her mouth again.

She heard his cane clatter to the floor as he leaned his weight more solidly against her, and oh how she could feel him now—hard and hot against her. This had been coming since he had boosted her up on the desk at the pawn shop.

Then, just as suddenly as he had started, he pulled back.  Not far, he rested his forehead against hers as he struggled for breath—for control. Belle’s eyes popped open as he cradled her face in both his palms, tucking her hair behind her ears.  “What’s wrong?” she whispered, searching his eyes.

“Would you have dinner with me?” he whispered just as softly.

It seemed a ridiculous question, wrapped around each other, both slightly panting from want and her balanced on the edge of her desk, “You’re asking me out? Now?” she smiled.

“I’m not a monster,” he said gruffly, “I’d like to do this right.” He lifted his head and met her gaze squarely, “Have dinner with me tomorrow night,” this time it was a command. 

Belle lifted her chin at the tone, “Alright,” she agreed softly.  They carefully untangled themselves from around each other, straightening clothing, and generally avoiding eye contact in that awkward moment after kissing and before goodbye.

                They walked in silence to the front door of the library and stepped outside as Belle locked the door. They stood a moment in silence before Gold asked shyly, “May I walk you home?”

                Belle beamed a smile at him, “I’d like that,” she said, and tucked her arm into his.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after the smashing of the cup (gulp) I felt the need to feature it. Also note, this is my AU's mash up with The Return (because apparently agnst rules my life tonight). I tried not to rehash too much because you've already seen it. 
> 
> As always--please let me know what you think.

Gold was having a remarkably good morning.  He had awoken smiling because he was having dinner with Belle that night. 

He had offered to pick her up at six o’clock for dinner when he had walked her to the door of her apartment, and she had agreed.  They stared at one another for a moment in front of her door before he had carefully leaned down and kissed her gently. Her eyes had fluttered close, but he had kept his open to watch her cheeks flush slightly with color.  When he pulled back he had to remind himself to breathe—what the kiss lacked in passionate intensity, it made up for in emotional punch.

                When she had bid him a smiling goodnight and closed the door to him, he had all but danced down the sidewalk.  He was going to have a chance to wine and dine the woman he loved, and this time he didn’t need sodding Cyrano to do the talking for him.  It felt like a victory.

                He decided to stop into Granny’s for breakfast, and it seemed to him that the bell above the door chimed a bit merrier this lovely day.  Seeing that his favorite seat—the booth in the corner that no one ever seemed to notice—was unoccupied was just another stroke of luck.  As he settled himself into the seat, he smiled at Ruby as she brought him his accustomed cup of tea.  Her dark eyes glanced at him—and turned back to stare at his smile, looking stunned. 

                “Something wrong, Miss Lucas?” he asked mildly.

                “No—I’m sorry, Mr. Gold,” she apologized quickly, “I just don’t remember you ever looking so … chipper,” she commented.

                He attempted a scowl, but it just didn’t feel right today, so he shrugged instead and looked away, opening the newspaper he had brought with him. “I’ll have the eggs and bacon.”

                Ruby nodded and walked back to the kitchen to put in his order.  When she returned with the platter, Gold watched the wolf girl gather her courage as she said, “I know it’s none of my business…”

                “Conversations that begin with those words don’t usually end well, dearie,” Gold warned, looking up from his paper.

                “I realize that,” she said with a sassy hand on her hip, “but I thought you’d like to know that the thing you’ve got going with Belle?” She had his full attention, “I think it’s a good thing for her.  You better not screw it up,” she slapped the plate down in front of him and walked off before her big mouth got her in more trouble.

                Gold blinked at the breakfast before him; earning the best friend’s approval wasn’t something he had ever been worried about before today (after all, at the Dark Castle he had been the only other person to whom Belle could talk) but knowing that the wolf girl was on his side had a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  He ate his breakfast quickly and left the girl a substantial tip before he walked out the door and wandered down the street to open his shop.

                He made three transactions before noon—Dr. Whale purchased an antique doctor’s bag he had been eyeing for weeks, Mr. Clark from the pharmacy bought a lacy monogramed handkerchief and a mortar and pestle made from brass, and Marco sold him a rather nice clock with fine carpentry work scrolling the edges.  Gold was just congratulating himself on updating his inventory when the front door to his shop opened again and in strode a rather tight-eyed mayor.

                “Well, Mayor Mills, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked calmly.

                “I’m looking for information,” the dark haired woman said bluntly.  She plucked down the cuffs of her sleeves, waving her fingers as though flicking off excess energy—he wondered if she knew that had always been a telling motion on her? The mayor was nervous.

                “And what could I tell you that your spies amongst the good people of Storybrooke could not?” Gold inquired almost sweetly.

                Her darkly-lined eyes glared at him, “There’s new man in town—August Booth, he’s a writer.  Have you met him?”

                Gold’s eyebrows shot up in surprise; no one ever came to Storybrooke—excepting Miss Swan, of course. “Can’t say as I have,” he answered carefully.

                “He’s been poking around Henry,” she confided, “and Sheriff Swan can’t seem to find anything useful about him.”

                “Ah,” Gold nodded carefully and tilted his head to one side, “and why—exactly—should I help you?”

                “I think you owe me a little something after that Kathryn incident,” Regina hissed menacingly at him.

                “I told you something tragic would happen to her—being kidnapped and held in darkness _is_ tragic,” Gold reminded her.  He had worked very hard to dance around the details of that little deal. Belle was Mary Margaret’s friend, and though the teacher’s reputation had come out tattered, the fact that it was now obvious that she had been framed helped slightly ease her title from murderess to simple home wrecker.  He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone (at least not permanently), especially not someone close to Belle. 

                “Twist my words all you want,” Regina’s eyes narrowed to slits and she leaned close to him, “you broke our deal.”

                “I’ve only broken one deal in my life, dearie,” Gold glared, “and it wasn’t your deal.” Thinking of Bae hurt him, but the memory of that broken deal always brought his face swimming up in Gold’s memory. Gold turned on his heel, “Now, if you’ve nothing more to say, I’ve more business to conduct.  Leave, _please_.”

                Regina flinched as though a physical force hit her and Gold grinned mercilessly, knowing exactly what his “pleases” did to the mayor.  She heaved a sigh and strutted out the door. 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                _That should do it_ , Regina smirked to herself once she was outside.  She knew full well that Rumplestiltskin would not look into the Booth mystery for her sake.  However, the one thing Rumplestiltskin couldn’t ignore was knowledge—it was the type of power he collected in this world.  Oh, she wanted him to look into the mystery of course, but she knew he would never do it unless he viewed Booth as a threat.  And Booth was a wild card—not from Storybrooke, and yet oddly familiar with it.  If there was one thing Regina and Rumplestiltskin both hated, it was something unpredictable fouling up their plans.

                She had seen the supposed writer lurking in the back alley of Gold’s shop and quickly adjusted her plans; Regina had walked in the front door to give Booth the distraction he needed to break into the back of the shop.  She had seen a shadow sneaking around the back room as Gold and she had conversed. Gold would catch him, of course, but that would make Booth the pawn broker’s target.  Perfect.

                Considering this revenge for his mismanaging Kathryn’s disappearance, Regina smiled and walked toward the mayor’s office.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                Gold had decided to spend the afternoon planning his date with Belle when he entered the back of his shop and saw a man—a scruffy-looking, biker-leather-wearing man.  Gold narrowed his eyes, “Can I help you?”

                Though the man claimed, shifting his blue-grey eyes warily, that he thought the back room was the shop, Gold didn’t believe him. Clearly the man had wanted something he thought Gold had hidden in the back.  As Gold escorted the man out the front door, he asked, “I didn’t catch your name.”

                “Booth,” the stranger replied curtly before ducking out the door, “August Booth.”

                Gold’s mood soured considerably—this couldn’t be a coincidence—and he was having such a good day.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                Gold began following the mysterious mister Booth; he needed to know what the man was up to that had caused the writer to end up in his back room.  Taking a chance while Booth was ducking into Granny’s, Gold let himself into Booth’s room at Granny’s inn.  What he found there left Gold breathless. 

                Booth knew about Rumplestiltskin’s dagger. There was even a bloody drawing of it! No one knew about that blasted dagger.  Well, no one except… Gold felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

                No. No. No. No. NO. Gold hurried out of Booth’s room, breaths coming in short gasps as the possibility of Booth’s real identity crashed around Gold’ brain. Could the strange man tooling about town on the motorcycle really be… Bae? Gold felt his heart lurch—was his long, lost son in town? Was Bae looking for his father? Why hadn’t he come to Gold directly?

                That question was answered when Gold followed Booth out to the nuns’ house.  Mother Superior (Damn Blue Fairy) revealed that Booth was asking advice on how to reach out to an estranged father—that the pair’s parting had been… difficult.  It really didn’t get more difficult than a father going back on his word to his son, did it?

                He needed advice. With a hesitant step, Gold walked to the damn cricket’s office. If Archie Hopper was good for nothing else, he usually knew the right way to go about redeeming oneself.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                Belle adjusted the straps on her dress.  She was wearing a dress the color of apricots and cream.  It was just a touch fancier than she normally wore to work.  It had a flirty little ruffle on the end of the skirt that flared as she moved.  The straps were thin and met behind her neck in a bust-defining halter.  She looked appropriate for a picnic, an evening in, or a semi-classy restaurant.  Because she hadn’t heard from Gold all day, she wasn’t quite sure what the date would entail other than dinner.  So she left her hair loose and slipped on a pair of nude heels; deciding she was ready for anything, settled down to wait. 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

                Gold couldn’t believe the cricket’s advice had worked.  He had swallowed his pride and groveled before Booth.  Gold had confessed how sorry he was for their wretched parting, and how he would do anything to make it up to his boy.  And he would make it up to him, he decided as the pair had fiercely hugged. That’s why he led his boy to where Gold had buried the dagger after Emma had driven into town. 

                In a show of trust, Gold handed over the dagger to Booth. “Destroy it—like you always wanted to.”

                It was to his everlasting sorrow, that Booth took the dagger and attempted to use it to control Gold as The Dark One.

Booth wasn’t Baelfire.

Gold felt the fury rise up in his guts as he pinned Booth to the tree. “Do I even look like him?” Booth goaded cruelly. And wasn’t that just the rub of it all? Blinded by his own desperate desire to have his son back in his life—the same desire that had caused him to create the curse in the first place—he had seen exactly what he wanted to see.

He would let the imposter live.  If anyone could convince Emma Swan that she was the savior, it was this conniving, misplaced man.  Besides, by his own admission, Booth was a dead man anyway. Let him suffer. Gold limped to his car and drove home.  He drowned his sorrows in whiskey and wept bitter tears until he fell asleep in his chair, bottle still clutched in his fist.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Belle walked to library and kept her head high.  She was humiliated, but she didn’t think that the rest of Storybrooke knew about it—yet.  She had told the girls about the date, of course, but she couldn’t face the diner that morning.  She wanted to wallow in self-pity just a little longer before she had to explain it.

He had stood her up. She felt like a stupid, moon-eyed girl with a crush who had been ditched on prom night. She had waited (all dressed up and nowhere to go, as it were) a horrifying amount of time. Hours she had sat, reading to pass the time and yet achingly aware of each passing second.  She had finally admitted defeat around midnight and crept miserably off to bed, lying awake long into the night doubting that Gold had ever really had feelings for her at all.  Maybe she had been nothing more than a plaything? A few stolen kisses and a grope or two—he was probably laughing at her naiveté right now.

She unlocked the door and marched back to her office.  She saw the worse-for-wear roses still sitting on her desk and scowled.  Men were the enemy this morning—especially as she hadn’t heard from Cyrano since he left the flowers.  Well, if he thought she would be making the first move, he had another thing coming. She put the roses in water as a concession to good manners—they were lovely roses—but she placed them in the main library where she would only have to see them when she wasn’t buried under paperwork.  And today, she intended to dive head first into paperwork and only come up for air when absolutely necessary.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Gold managed to wake up around noon.  At least he thought he was awake—whether he was alive was another question.  The room spun lazily around him and even he could smell the booze leaking out of his pours.  His knee was screaming and he was decently sure he was going to vomit sometime in the near future. 

Then he remembered.  Booth was not Bae…. He groaned and tried to lift himself out of the chair.  He was on his way to the bathroom when he realized—Oh Gods, no! He hadn’t even called Belle to cancel their date.  He just hadn’t shown up.  He barely made it to the bathroom in time to lose the contents of his stomach. 

He was forced to hang on to the toilet for dear life as he wretched. How had things gone so wrong so fast? After the vomiting passed, Gold staggered into the shower and tried desperately to wash away the pain and the cobwebs from last night.  The shower did help clear his mind and soothe his knee, but the agony of losing Bae and Belle all over again (in the same night) was almost too much.

He dressed in one of his suits but neglected to shave—he had to see her, whiskers be damned.  He drove into town and parked directly in front of the library.  He leaned more heavily on his cane then he usually did, and his balance was still wobbly from last night’s bingeing. He saw her across the library, shelving a book.  She turned her head when he walked in and he opened his mouth to call out a greeting.

But what could he say?

Her eyes stared coldly back at him and her cheeks flushed as she looked down—Oh Gods, he was embarrassing her.  Her hair was pulled back today—that was always a bad sign.  He opened his mouth (again) to speak, but all he did was exhale air.  Gold could only watch as she lifted her chin, turned on her heel, strode to her office and slammed the door.  He winced as the sound ricocheted in his brain.

Gold left the library and drove to his shop.  He walked in through the front door, but he made sure the sign said “closed” as he limped into back room.  He did all this mechanically, until he saw her chipped cup sitting on the table—he had kept it there since she had kissed him. 

Then the smashing started. 

The rage bubbled up in him, black and wretched.  He whirled his cane, clubbing everything that could be shattered.  Porcelain crumbled to dust, odd bits of glass spewed everywhere, and if it couldn’t be smashed with his cane, he threw it against the back brick wall.  Clocks exploded into a thousand cogs and springs, antique music boxes tinkled musically as they disintegrated, and still the destruction didn’t ease the hurt.

He had driven her away—again.  What was the point of the whole internet charade if he wasn’t going to win her in the end? He panted, sweaty, and bleeding from tiny nicks made by the flying debris his wrath had wrought. He felt two tears squeeze out of his eyes and leave burning tracks down his scruffy cheeks. He leaned over the one item in the back that had remained untouched in his fury, grabbing up the chipped cup and cradling it against his chest as he tried to find his sanity.

Suddenly, he looked up, a determined set to his chin.  No, not again, not this time.  This time, he was damn well going to fight for her.  Wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, he staggered to his computer and started typing.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

“I can’t believe he had the nerve to show his face,” Ruby snarled as she viciously stabbed into the rocky road ice cream she and Belle were sharing on the couch. 

Belle sighed heavily, “Well that’s about all he did—and of course it was the only time that day I ventured out of my office.” She stuck another mouthful of ice cream in her mouth, “I mean, he couldn’t even _say_ anything.  All he did was stand there gaping at me, and looking all at-a-loss-for-words.”

Ruby glanced sideways at her friend, “I’m surprised you’re not being more compassionate about this—usually you give people a chance to explain themselves—not that I blame you.  I think your new slam-the-door-in-his-face routine is a winner.”

Belle shook her head, “I just don’t have the time to figure him out.  He so— _complicated_ ,” she dug at a piece of chocolate covered pretzel in the creamy goodness.  “First he wont make a move, then he gets pissy when I’m seeing someone else, then he asks me out (after kissing me senseless), and he ditches me.”

Ruby laid her head on Belle’s shoulder in sympathy, “You don’t need to take his crap—plenty of fish, and all that.” She angled her head to look up at Belle, “Want me to cut him?”

That comment nearly had ice cream shooting out of Belle’s nose. “Oh, Ruby.”

“I’m serious,” Ruby sat up, “I warned him not to screw this up—now I have to hurt him.  Maybe I’ll spit in his teacup,” she grinned with a feral kind of pleasure.

Belle wanted to argue…. But then…. “Maybe just once or twice?” she requested.

It wasn’t until later that Belle thought to log in to her match making website.  After all, her real life love life was dead on its feet, she might as well see how her virtual love life was doing. She was surprised to see an email from Cyrano.

_Sweet Belle,_

_I hope the world finds you well tonight.  I know I have not contacted you in a few days, and I’m sorry for it.  My life has been … complicated as of late._

Belle sighed heavily, _Great_ , she thought bitterly, _another complicated man._ She continued to read:

_I wonder if your other suitor has taken advantage of my absence? I fear that another may have stolen your affections: “To me speak softly, and tell me simply that [he] doesn't love you.”_

_If I am too late, I will learn to accept it, but my Belle, I would hope for chance to compete for your affections._

_With ardent hope,_

_Cyrano_

Belle sat up a little straighter at her computer.  Okay, he wanted to compete, did he? Fine. She began typing.

_Cyrano,_

_You are not too late, but I’m afraid I don’t have much patience for complicated right now.  I want to meet.  So, what’s your idea of the perfect first date?_

_Put up or shut up,_

_Belle_

Though she cringed a little at her exit line, Belle hit send anyway.  The idea of put up or shut up fit her feelings nicely tonight.  To her surprise, her inbox pinged almost immediately.

She opened the message to see just one line: _I thought we'd start with coffee._


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I whipped this out faster than normal--I just couldn't get it out of my head. As always, please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

They had arranged to meet at Looking Glass.  There was a part of Belle that was incredibly relieved that she would be in familiar territory.  After the let down with Gold the other night, she felt steadier on her feet in Jefferson’s small establishment.  There was also a significant part of her screaming that Cyrano could be some absolute weirdo whom she should meet in a crowd of people in a place she could avoid in the future if he turned out to be the crazy stalker man that Emma predicted. 

She ruthlessly squelched that cowardly notion.  Belle could not let fear rule her life—not even the fear of being rejected (again) by an awkward suitor.  Besides, if Cyrano did turn out to be a crazy stalker man, Jefferson was there to back her up.

The owner of Looking Glass was, in fact, admiring himself in a rather large, rather elaborate, gold-framed mirror that stood sentinel behind the counter.  Jefferson’s perfectly coiffed hair and pouty lips looked back at him as he primped.  Really, he was more of a girl than she was most of the time.

“Want me to put a shot of Kahlua in that coffee?” Jefferson’s reflection met her eyes across the room.

“Geez, do I look that bad?” Belle asked, checking her outfit.  She had worn the same outfit that she planned to wear for Gold.  It was probably in bad taste to dress the same for two different men, but it was a killer outfit that she refused to have jinxed by Gold’s poor choice.

“Of course not, darling, you look delectable—all peaches and cream,” he smiled, gave his ascot one final miniscule adjustment and turned to face her. “However, I am highly sensitive to your every facial expression,” Jefferson charmed while Belle rolled her eyes, “and my powers of observation tell me that you are nervous.”

Belle snorted, “Like that took some heavy deductive work, Sherlock,” she teased.  Belle, smoothed her curls, and then smoothed her dress as she sat prettily perched on the red rose couch.  She then proceeded to smooth her hands down the front of the book she carried— _Cyrano deBergerac_ , for luck—when she called herself every kind of fool and tried to keep her mind busy by burying her nose in the book. 

“Did you talk to him about it?” Jefferson asked gently, sliding into the seat next to her.

“Cyrano? Of course, we said we would meet here about seven for coffee,” she responded.

“No, darling, I meant Gold,” he said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I saw the way he looked at you the last time you were in here—I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation for his absence the other night.”

Belle stiffened and confided tightly, “Well, he has yet to share that explanation with me.” She glared at the book as if the ink of the page offended her sensibilities.  

Jefferson sighed, deciding to leave it alone—Belle was a big girl after all. She could take care of herself, and he was here to make sure her virtual beau didn’t cross any lines.  “Alright, do you need a refill on that?” He nodded at her empty mug of coffee.

Feeling her already jittery nerves twang, she looked up from her book, “Maybe let’s switch to cocoa?”

Jefferson patted her knee with an affectionate laugh, “For you? Anything!” It was as he was making his way behind the counter that he noticed the clock on the wall.  7:07 PM.  Damnit—did Cereal (or whatever his name was) _have_ to be late?  Not only was it rude, Jefferson was afraid Belle was not going to take tardiness very well this time.

Handing Belle her rich cup of cocoa, Jefferson walked back behind the bar to wipe something down as they waited.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Gold was congratulating himself on his ruse.  He knew that Cyrano was the only other man currently in Belle’s life—if Cyrano also stood Belle up, it would certainly upset her, but it would put Gold and his internet invention on an even footing.  And Looking Glass was close enough to his shop for him to discern the exact right moment to step in and sweep up the broken pieces of her heart as he watched out the back of his shop into Jefferson’s big picture window. 

Yes, this plan, while slightly manipulative, was perfect.  Until it all went to hell.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

It was 8:00 PM.  Belle checked her cell phone and the clock on the wall to be absolutely certain.  She closed her book carefully, delicately, as though the worn leather cover would shatter like glass.  She was looking straight ahead—fixing her gaze strictly on the wavy patterns of the wallpaper.  She breathed in, and then she breathed back out.

“Belle—“ Jefferson started, but the flatness of her gaze stopped him short.  Belle was always such a bright light; her eyes would sparkle and she was always quick to laugh and joke.  The Belle who was looking at him right now had smothered her inner fire, banking it to embers.  She was a stranger. “Do you want me to take you home?” he offered softly.

“No—thank you, but,” Belle bit her lip to stop it quivering.  She would not cry over this, at least not with an audience, “I think I need to be alone for a while.  Can I just—sit here—for a minute?”

Jefferson’s eyes searched hers and he empathized with her embarrassment, “I’ve got some paperwork that needs tending to,” he said, walking into the back room.  “Let me know when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll drive you.”

Belle nodded because she didn’t trust her voice not to crack.  When Jefferson left her alone, Belle cradled the book to her chest and rocked slightly—trying to soothe the pressure in her chest.  What was wrong with her? She was stronger than this! It took more than a few botched dates to unhinge her.

 _No one, no one, could ever love me!_ She heard the echoes of pain she didn’t quite understand.  Where had she heard that anguished cry? Was it—an old movie, maybe a play? It fit her situation so perfectly that it rattled around and around in her brain, causing her throat to constrict with unshed tears. _No one could ever love me_ , the voice screamed at her, and squeezed her head like a vice.

She was _worth_ loving.  She knew it.  She had so much love to give.  But every time she made herself a little vulnerable, she was disappointed.  Belle did not like feeling vulnerable and exposed.  True, when Gold and Cyrano had (both) stood her up she hadn’t been in public—that would have been devastating.  However, she had still exposed herself to them.  With Gold she had been forced to be brave enough to make the first move, only to have that blow up in her face.  Cyrano had left her defenseless at a different level.  He had gotten into the core of her—he had manipulated her with words. She couldn’t decide which rejection hurt more. 

Hurt wasn’t the right word.  She wasn’t in pain, she mused as she continued to rock, this pressure in her chest that clenched her throat around strangled sobs wasn’t pain.  It was like a chilling numbness.  It tasted like resignation, like surrender. 

She was just so _done_ with it all.

Belle leaned her head back against the couch’s comfortable back, tucking her legs up under her as she pulled the book more tightly against her.  It wasn’t quite a fetal position, but it did offer some physical comfort. A small sniff escaped her—only one. She felt two traitorous tears leak themselves down her cheekbones and slide down her neck.  She was hyper aware of their cooling tracks—the only two tears she would deign to let fall.  She would not cry. She would not give in to this helpless feeling—she was braver than this.

She pursed her lips together to hold back her emotions, _If only someone else could see it too._

A breathy, shaken voice stuttered out, “Belle?” in a familiar burr.

 _Oh Gods, no, not now_ , was all she could think.  She did _not_ want to face him now—not when her walls were crumbling around her. 

She slowly lifted her head to meet Gold’s gaze—those lovely hazel eyes were boring into hers with a distressing frankness.

Turning her head and wiping the evidence of her tears from her face, Belle said quietly, “What do you want, Nick?” She despised how creaky her voice sounded, even to her own ears.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

He had wanted this— _had_ he wanted _this_? The plan was to pounce on Belle when she was upset by Cyrano’s absence. Gold had figured Belle would be spitting mad by now, and he had hoped to pick a fight and then kiss her silly before sweeping her off her clumsy feet. 

Well here she was in Looking Glass, looking lovely in her outfit (albeit a little wrinkled by her curled up position), and clearly upset.  But she wasn’t upset/ _mad_ —she was upset/ _sad_.  She looked positively fragile.  His Belle was brave, she always fought for what she wanted or needed.  His Belle didn’t cry—not even when he had thrown her out of his house and his life.  She had raged at him, called him a coward, and gotten momentarily choked up, but she hadn’t wept.

 _Gods_ , he thought, despising himself, _I’ve made her cry._

In horror, he stuttered out, “Belle?”

Her already tense frame coiled tighter for a moment before she lifted her head to wipe away her tears and ask, “What do you want, Nick?” Although his Belle had never been a princess, her bearing was nothing short of queenly, and it made his mouth run dry.

He swallowed audibly and Belle’s eyes drifted briefly to his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he struggled to figure out his next move.  He couldn’t pick a fight—not now.  He only had one other option open to him; he had to give her the truth.  At least part of it. He ducked his head, and pulled a slightly crumpled morning glory out of his inner coat pocket and offered it to her, “I’d hoped for a chance to explain.” He had morning glories climbing up a trellis by the side of his house that were a fetching shade of blue almost the exact color of Belle’s eyes.  On impulse this afternoon he’d gone home to shave and change his suit (he had wanted to make sure to dress the part of the hero for once) when he had picked the flower as a good luck charm. He prayed she noticed the resemblance to her eyes as he waited—the power was in her corner.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Belle’s eyes felt gritty as she gazed at the flower that Gold held out to her. She had always liked the shy petals of the morning glory—only peeking out to see the world once in a while.  And wasn’t this flower just a perfect metaphor?  Gold stood in front of her with something like panic in his eyes.  Here was a man who shunned most of the town, but every once in a while he included her into his world.  Like the flower, there were some crumpled edges here—harsh lines written on the soul that reflected darkly in his deep hazel gaze.  Gold had major baggage—and Belle was having a really hard time feeling sympathetic about it at the moment.

Belle lifted her eyes to Gold’s, setting down her copy of _Cyrano deBergerac_ on the coffee table, leaning around him and his unwelcome peace offering to accomplish the task.  She slowly crossed her arms over her chest, lest they unconsciously accept the morning glory, “And why is that?”

Gold’s mouth flapped open and closed as he tried to find a way to voice his thoughts, “Because—because you deserve an explanation.”

Belle’s mouth quirked, “Oh I _deserve_ a great many things.  Respect, for one,” her blue eyes flashed, silencing any interruption he may have tried to make, “and kindness.  Standing me up was disrespectful, Nick,” she admonished softly, her eyes softening in her litany, “but not letting me know that you weren’t coming—not picking up the God damn phone— _that_ was just _mean_ ,” Belle’s voice all but growled over the last word—dropping in pitch and volume as she went.

She should be yelling at him, she had every right to yell at him, rage at him, but her utterly calm delivery was having a devastating effect upon the man in front of her.

“In short,” Belle said, standing up and walking steadily toward the door of Looking Glass, “I deserve a great deal more than you are willing to give me.” She had left the copy of _Cyrano_ on the coffee table—she was the librarian, she would return it when she felt like it, and she couldn’t stand to even look at the play right now.

Her hand had just turned the door knob when Gold managed to choke out, “my _son_.”

Belle froze, she tilted her head to one side, but she still didn’t look back at Gold or speak.

“The—the reason I missed our date?” Gold rushed through his explanation, barely pausing for breath, “I thought my son had come to find me.  We were separated—on very bad terms—when he was a child—and…” he licked his lips nervously, “and I thought he had come back to me.”

Belle turned back to him, the notes of raw, piercing honesty in his voice speaking to her, “What do you mean, you _thought_ he had come back?”

“It wasn’t him,” Gold hung his head miserably. “I thought it was but--,” he choked on the last of it, shaking his head at his own stupidity.  “I confronted the man, but when it didn’t turn out the way I wanted,” he was still avoiding her gaze, “I crawled home and tried to drown my sorrows in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.”

A tiny piece of Belle’s bruised heart broke for the father she saw in Gold—hopes so completely dashed, “That’s why you didn’t call?”

“I know it’s not a real excuse,” he stepped closer to her and tried to grab one of Belle’s hands.  She stepped back into the room and crossed her arms, her body language telling him to back off; Gold obliged, but if he couldn’t touch her with his hands, he clung to her with his words. “But Belle—you’re the light and the air, and everything that keeps me a living, breathing man.  I’m so lost without you.” Belle’s eyes clouded with something too close to pity for his sanity, “I know you don’t want to hear all that now, but… I just didn’t want to lose you without you knowing” there was the briefest pause before he whispered, “everything.” Gold looked at her as though he was afraid this was the last time he would ever see her, “Goodbye, Belle.” He limped toward the exit.

Belle closed her eyes as more tears threatened, and kept them closed as she said, “I hear Granny’s has a great hamburger.” She was pretty sure Gold wouldn’t have been more confused if the picture of the white rabbit on the wall had spoken to him. “Maybe… maybe we could try it sometime?”

Gold gaped at her, but then a tentative smile touched his lips, “I’d like that.”

“I’m not promising anything,” Belle warned him, “but I’d like to try to be… friends.”

“Friends?” Gold croaked as though his throat was raw.

Belle nodded, “And then… we’ll see.” On that note, she picked up her purse and walked out of Looking Glass before her legs gave out beneath her.

“We’ll see,” Gold echoed, picking up the abandoned copy of _Cyrano deBergerac_ and cradling it to his chest like it might sooth the ache in his heart.

“Indeed we will,” Jefferson’s voice called out to him, “we’ll see exactly how you dance around this one.”  Gold spun to see the hatter watching him from the doorway to the back room, the other man leaning casually against the doorframe.  Normally Jefferson’s expression was one of mild amusement—as though the world was just one big, dark joke that no one else understood. The expression that Gold witnessed on Jefferson’s face right now was deadly serious, “I suggest you tread carefully,” Jefferson warned Gold, “if you lose your footing again…” he shook his head, warning Gold softly as that Hatter disappeared back into the store room.

Not for the first time, Gold wondered just how much the Hatter remembered from their old world—and just what the hell would he do about it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted a few pictures I found to help set the mood at the end of this chapter. As always--thanks for reading, and KEEP LEAVING COMMENTS!

“So wait,” Mary Margaret’s brow furrowed as she looked at Belle, “you went to meet Cyrano and ended up having a battle royale with Gold?” When Belle had skipped their usual breakfast date at the diner again, the girls had come as a group to find her. 

“More or less,” Belle said miserably as she walked around the library—straightening up the spotless reading areas. “He didn’t really battle me; he just stood there asking for forgiveness as I told him what I thought of him. He did have a really good reason for skipping our date—“

“He still should have called,” Ruby interrupted, crossing her arms over her tiny white diner uniform.

“—Of course he should have,” Belle replied tartly, slapping a book down (more harshly than absolutely necessary) on the circulation desk, “But his reason… Well, it was compelling.”

Emma leaned her hip against the desk, “And what was his reason?”

Belle hesitated, looking down, “It was personal—it’s not my place to tell you that.”

Ruby whistled softly, “Must have been some reason,” she made eye contact with the other girls as Belle continued to flit about the room.  In the way that women have communicated since the Stone Age, the girls were able to reach a decision via eye contact in seconds what could have taken hours to hash out verbally. Predictably, Mary Margaret wanted to forgive and forget, Emma wanted to wait for more information, so Ruby’s desire to disembowel Gold was outvoted, “Okay, so what did he say besides his ‘secret reason’?” she rolled her eyes and air quoted—Ruby never had been a gracious loser.

Belle halted at the edge of the stacks and placed one hand on the shelf as if to steady herself, her head hanging slightly forward, her dark curls curtaining her face, “He said a lot of things…”

“Like what, Sweetie?” Mary Margaret asked, concerned.

Belle chuckled but the laugh held no humor, “That he’s lost without me—that I make him a living, breathing man—“ Belle’s voice choked off and her head snapped up. “Oh no,” she whispered.  Legs shaking, she made her way to one of the chairs, her blue eyes wide and horrified.

“Belle, what is it?” Ruby crouched in front of her.

Emma eyed her closely, “Do you feel faint? Stick your head between your knees.”

Belle stiffened, eyes narrowing, “I’ve never fainted in my life,” her tone conveyed her disgust at the very idea.

Mary Margaret smiled, “Well, I’m sure your indignation is a good sign, but what’s wrong?”

“Those words,” Belle’s tone was utter conviction, “’living, breathing man’ and ‘lost without you’… those are the exact phrases Cyrano used when he stood outside my window….” Belle ran her fingers through her curls in exasperation, “and how did Gold know where to find me last night unless he knew I would be at Looking Glass?  The only people who knew I would be at Looking Glass were you guys, Jefferson, and Cyrano…”

“Holy shit,” Emma’s eyes widening in comprehension.

Mary Margaret and Ruby’s mouths hung agape.

“How could I have _missed this_?” Belle was up out of the chair now, her busy mind forcing her body into action.  Belle began to pace, “Cyrano’s clues must have been complete crap otherwise—“ a memory stirred.  Gold sipping out of Belle’s wineglass at Looking Glass, placing his lips exactly where hers had been, “the taste,” she murmured, closing her eyes and shaking her head, “Cyrano said he wondered if I tasted ‘mellow and smooth with just a hint of spice,’ and Gold had made that comment when he drank from my wine glass…argh,” Belle threw her hands up in disgust with herself, “how could I have been so blind!”

“But—wait—if Cyrano is Gold,” Mary Margaret stepped up to Belle and grabbed her hands, making soothing motions with her thumbs, “why would he get so jealous when you told him about Cyrano the day you kissed him?”

“Unless he wasn’t jealous,” Ruby pointed out, “what if he was just frustrated that he had put himself smack in this twisted love triangle?”

Emma’s head tipped toward Ruby, “That’s a good point. People take on these different identities online…” Emma’s hands moved in an attempt to convey her meaning, “Gold may have been able to say things as Cyrano that he wouldn’t have dared to say in person.”

Mary Margaret softened, “Cyrano did say he felt unworthy in real life…”

“But why not drop the charade when Belle kissed Gold in _real life_?” Ruby wondered aloud. “If the whole point of Cyrano was to get to Belle….”

“Because it’s easier to control the game when you’re controlling two out of the three players,” Belle’s tone was low and dangerous. Belle was rarely angry, but this betrayal had her rage building, “All this time… he’s been manipulating me and my feelings _all this time?!_ ”

“Whoa, hang on,” Emma said, putting one hand on Belle’s shoulder, “we don’t have any proof; this is all just speculation.”

“Seems pretty obvious now,” Ruby commented.

“No,” Emma waved her hand, “think this through.  If Belle goes over to the pawn shop throwing around accusations, Gold will shut her down and then we’ll never know.”

“You’re right,” Belle said softly, she was still angry, but the anger was fading to a slow boil, “what should I do?”

“Wait and see,” Emma said, “if the opportunity to gather more information presents itself, so be it.”

“Did he say anything else?” Mary Margaret asked trying to find the bright side of the twisted situation.

“That he wants to be my friend,” Belle said softly, looking away from her friends so they couldn’t see the tears gathering in her eyes.

“What better way to gather information on him,” Emma declared, “I say, get to know him. Be his friend and we’ll see what his true motivations are.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

And so, Belle let Gold try to be her friend while she observed him.  He started by returning the copy of _Cyrano deBergerac_ Belle had left at Looking Glass to the library.  Belle had been surprised to see him so soon after their last encounter, and wasn’t sure how to handle her turbulent emotions around him.  How could he have lied to her and still be her friend? To her amazement it seemed that Gold was taking her request for friendship to heart.  He laid the book carefully on the returns counter, asked after her day as she processed it and left after a sincere, “I hope you have a good day.” Though she could see the struggle behind his hazel eyes, Belle had to give Gold points for his patience—he didn’t ask her to have that hamburger as she had promised, though he had obviously wanted to.

In fact, he didn’t ask her out in the next few weeks. Every time she saw him, Belle had to stop herself from demanding answers to the Cyrano mystery.  Remembering Emma’s advice, Belle took her cue from Gold and tried to be patient. She received no other messages from Cyrano, but she did see Gold almost every day. He usually stopped into the library, at first to check out books and then to discuss the books he was reading.  Gold listened to Belle quite seriously—smiling a very small smile whenever they stumbled on a topic about which she was passionate. 

“Do you know you light up when you’re discussing books?” Gold grinned at her as they walked down the sidewalk of Main Street. 

“Only books I like,” Belle smiled carefully at him.

“There are books you don’t like?” He teased. Gold had begun timing his visits to very-near-closing-time and would suggest that he could walk her home, or to Granny’s, and once to the market when she had shopping to do.  He never touched her, never said anything to suggest he was interested in more than companionship, never brought up their disastrous non-date, and never mentioned his son again either.

“Nothing springs to mind,” she laughed. Belle could see his plan—he was giving her the space to decide what she wanted—the trouble was she wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted from him.  They discussed every topic that came to mind except the ones that were always burning behind their eyes.  Belle was learning about Gold, and he was learning about her, but they weren’t really getting to know each other, yet Belle looked forward to the time they were spending together.

The strange stalemate they had called on their relationship couldn’t last forever. 

As usual, it was the mayor who changed everything.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

“A _ball_ , she’s holding a _ball_ ,” Emma exclaimed, “in Storybrooke?”

The four friends all gathered in Looking Glass, drinking cappuccino from Jefferson’s fancy new machine.  He had even tried to do pretty designs on the top—Belle thought hers was supposed to be a heart, but it looked more like a lopsided balloon.

“That’s what the flyer says that she asked me to hang in the library,” Belle said mildly.  “The whole town is invited to celebrate her ‘successful term in office with a night of dinner, drinks, and dancing,’” she quoted from the brightly colored paper she had hung up on the bulletin board at the library. Belle shrugged, “Actually, it sounds like a good time.  The mayor said she was arranging live music and she’s ordered a ton of fresh flowers from my dad for bouquets and table decorations.”

“Oh this going to be just like prom!” Ruby squealed, all but dancing in her seat, “I can’t wait—I wonder if someone will ask me to go.”

Mary Margaret was also getting in the spirit, “What will we wear?” she wondered, already daydreaming of her dress.

Belle and Emma smiled ruefully at each other, neither was as enchanted at the prospect of a ball as Mary Margaret and Ruby, but they were women, and therefore could get into the spirit of dressing up and dancing the night away.

“I think it’s a marvelous idea,” Jefferson announced as he handed Emma a refill.  Her design was probably supposed to be a star for her sheriff’s badge, though it looked more like a Christmas tree.  “I was wondering, Sheriff, if you would accompany me to the ball?”

“Me?!” Emma actually squeaked.

Belle, Mary Margaret, and Ruby looked at each other and then back at Emma and Jefferson in rapt fascination.  Emma never squeaked.

Jefferson took Emma’s hand and placed a courtly kiss on her knuckles, “I would feel incredibly safe in your capable hands that night,” he smiled.

Emma swallowed and her cheeks flushed, “Uh,” she stuttered.  She seemed to get ahold of herself and snatched her hand back, “Okay,” she said wiping the back of her hand against her jeans as though Jefferson’s touch had stung a bit. She shrugged, “I’d probably have to go anyway as security or something,” she groused.

Jefferson’s face lit up with a wide grin, “Wait till I tell Grace that I’m escorting _Henry’s mom_ to the ball—she’ll just love it,” he walked back behind the counter.

Over the next week, people started pairing up for the ball.  To no one’s shock but Ruby’s, Archie Hopper managed to ask her while he blushed and stammered.  When David asked Mary Margaret, Belle was shocked that she turned him down.  Apparently Mary Margaret wasn’t ready to trust David again after he had doubted her innocence in the whole Kathryn ordeal.  Belle couldn’t blame Mary Margaret—trust was a huge part of love. Instead, Mary Margaret was going with Leroy as friends.

Belle was hoping that Gold would ask her, but she wasn’t even sure if he was going.  On the one time she had asked his opinion of the Mayor’s Ball (as everyone had started calling the dance) he had only said that he had no wish to celebrate the mayor’s term in office.  Belle thought perhaps he didn’t want to attend because his leg would pain him too much to dance—but she would never hurt his pride by asking that question.  So, she waited for someone else to ask her. 

In the meantime, she and the girls went dress shopping, and plotted how they would do their make-up and hair for the big night.

As Gold was walking her home after work a few nights before the ball, he stopped and lightly touched Belle on the arm.  She froze and looked down at his hand; it was the first time he had touched her in over a month. “Belle,” he began and then stopped, he took a step back, releasing her arm.

Belle could actually see him forcing himself not to reach out again—to let her control the situation.  Her heart melted a tiny fraction and Belle took a step closer and wrapped her arm through his to start walking again, “Yes, Nick?”

He paused a moment before continuing, “Are you attending the Mayor’s Ball with anyone?”

“No,” she said simply, “I planned on meeting the girls there, but I don’t have an escort at the moment—though Henry did offer,” she smiled at the memory of the precocious boy’s earnest invitation. “He said he didn’t know how to dance, but he would walk in with me if I wanted because pretty girls shouldn’t enter alone,” she laughed.

Gold chuckled, squeezing her arm with his as they walked, “He’s right, you’re too pretty to go alone.”

“Oh?” Belle prompted, glancing at Gold out of the corner of her eye.

“I could go—with you—if you wanted,” Gold offered offhandedly.

“As a favor to the girl who couldn’t get a date?” Belle asked acerbically.

“Gods, no,” Gold said a little desperately.  They were in front of her apartment steps now, and Gold turned to face her, “Belle, let me be the one to walk in with you.  I want to see you dressed up and on my arm. I want to be the one you dance with, the one who fetches your drinks, and the one who brings you safely home.” He raised one hand and gently tucked an errant curl behind her ear, “please,” it was a statement more than a plea.

The butterflies in Belle’s stomach started fluttering, “Alright,” she said quietly. She met his eyes, “You’ll show up this time?”

Gold laughed wryly, “I promise.”

X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0

And show up he did.  If there was one thing Belle was learning about Gold, it was that he enjoyed showing off his wealth when he could.  She had thought they would be driving to the ball in his Cadillac; the vintage car was an impressive machine.  Instead, outside her apartment she saw a car that was too flashy to be a regular car but not long enough to be considered a limo.  She watched as Gold got out of the back seat—was this what they termed a town car? Someone else driving implied that they would have the backseat to themselves. Oh my.

When she opened the door to his tentative knock, Belle and Gold just stared at one another.  Well, they were quite an impressive match this evening.  Gold was wearing a precisely tailored tux that showed off his lean build, making him look elegant instead of gangly.  The blackness of the tux was extended by his vest and tie (silk by the looks of them) and the crisp whiteness of his shirt glowed beneath—gold cufflinks completing his look.

Belle was afraid that Gold had stopped breathing, his face was pale, his hazel eyes were so wide she could see the whites, and his mouth had dropped open.  “Nick, are you alright?”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Gold knew he was staring like a pubescent boy, but he couldn’t help himself.  She was dressed in gold.  Her dress was almost exactly the same as when he had first seen her in her father’s castle.  She was even wearing the tiny diamond necklace that she favored in their old world. Her hair was swept up from her face but allowed to cascade in her natural curls down her back. The dress was golden satin that shimmered in the light, but an ecru lace overlay that had thousands of little golden beads stitched over it added a touch of sophistication.  The bodice was heart-shaped and tightly fitted to her torso, though this dress had small straps to hold it up.  The skirt was not as long as the one she had worn back in their old world and was just a touch full so that it flared at her hips.  It stopped about mid-calf and floated around her.  Gods help him, she was wearing those damn stilettoes again.  They were also gold and had a little peep-toe that showed off her golden toe nail polish. When did he start thinking toes were sexy?  She was breath-taking. 

“Nick, are you alright?” Belle looked at him. Minx, she knew what she was doing to him, he could tell by the sparkle in her eyes.

“You might warn a man when you’re preparing to give him a heart attack, dearie,” Gold chided, fingers itching to embrace her. 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The blatant appreciation in his eyes made all the hours of beauty preparations that Ruby had insisted upon completely worth the effort.

Belle felt her face flush and she smiled, “You don’t look so bad yourself.”  She reached forward, hands brushing the lapels of his tux, and deft fingers straightening his tie—though he didn’t need it, she just wanted an excuse to touch him.  This close, she could smell his cologne—woodsy and sexy all at the same time.  That cologne did horribly beautiful things to her insides.

“I, uh, have something for you,” Gold said carefully, taking a small package from behind his back.  Being the daughter of the florist, Belle recognized the small corsage box from her father’s shop.  “I thought it might be appropriate for tonight—your father helped me pick it out for you,” he was rambling, Mr. Gold, feared owner of half the town was rambling.  Belle felt her insides liquefy, “But, if it’s not right for you dress or you don’t like it—you don’t have to wear it.”

Belle opened the small box and gasped; inside was the smallest white rose in full bloom she had ever seen, it was attached to a golden ribbon in a way that was hidden by springs of gold wire and carefully positioned greenery. Unlike most homecoming or prom corsages her father sold, this was tiny, delicate, and heartbreakingly beautiful. “Papa helped you pick this?”

Gold nodded, “He said you always hated those big, garish ones,” he shrugged, “he made this one especially for you.”

Belle was so moved she felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, “Oh Nick, it’s so beautiful,” she said as she took it out of the box.

“Allow me,” he murmured, placing his cane over his arm, and tying the ends of the ribbon around her left wrist. “He, uh, didn’t seem surprised that I was taking you to the ball—your father, I mean.”

Belle felt the smile tug at her lips as Gold seemed to be staring very hard at her wrist, “I don’t have any secrets from my father.  He knows we’ve been seeing each other.”

Gold’s eyes flew up to hers, “And he doesn’t—mind?”

Belle’s head tilted a little to the side, “He knows I make my own decisions,” she said calmly, “I always have.”

“Oh,” Gold was looking at her with a stunned expression.  He cleared his throat and offered his arm, “Shall we then?”

Belle snatched up her small purse, and took Gold’s arm as they descended from her apartment. He opened the door to the backseat of the town car, and Belle felt a little thrill at the feel of the luxurious leather under her fingers.  Gold got in the other side, and even though there was a driver up front, Belle felt like she and Gold were in their own little world.

Trusting her instincts, Belle reached over and twined her fingers with Gold’s.  He jumped at the contact, but his fingers tightened around hers, “Are you ready?”

Belle nodded, and they were off to the ball just like a princess and her prince charming.  The thought made Belle smile quietly to herself.  _Even librarians can feel like a princess for a night_ , she decided dreamily.

 

AN: [Here](http://www.vintageous.com/v5030.htm) is the dress Belle is wearing.  I found it on the vintage dress site and I fell madly in love. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this one is LONG.... I mean it. Go get a drink or something. This weekend I wrote over 7,000 words of this fic (Chapters 15 and 16).... I'm going to go lie down. 
> 
> Also, this is the ball scene, if you've never heard the song "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri--go DOWNLOAD it. I highly recommend that you read the scene with that song playing in the background (you'll know when to start it). I promise, it adds SO MUCH, and I think I timed it well enough that you can read with the music. PS: I don't own this song, but it's just SO RUMBELLE, I had to use it. 
> 
> Be prepared for the FEELS and SMUT (this is the chapter the mature rating is for), my darling readers! And, as always, your comments are welcome and appreciated.

The ball was being held in the large council meeting area in the Town Hall.  The large area was where most of the town business was conducted—most recently Emma’s debate with Sidney Glass over the sheriff’s position.  Belle was in awe—this was not the same meeting room she remembered. 

The large area had been cleared of all its chairs and replaced with large circular tables at the edges of the room decorated with white linens and fancy glassware.  The middle of the room was left empty and had been polished to a high shine for dancing as a full orchestra was set up on the stage above everyone’s head.  Their conductor was already guiding them through what Belle thought of as “dinner music.” It was lovely music, ethereal and soft, allowing the growing number of people to congregate and eat dinner with the melody adding lushness to the atmosphere.

“Belle!” Ruby came scampering over in her (obviously) red dress and sky-scraper heels.  It was a snug, strapless dress that both hit the floor and clung to ever luscious curve the dark-haired beauty offered and had a slit in the side that ran from the floor to high thigh. With her hair bound up high on her head, Ruby looked gorgeous and lethal all at the same time.

 _Poor Archie,_ Belle thought as she grasped Ruby’s hand, _if he wasn’t in love with her already, he certainly was now._ “Ruby, you look amazing!”

“I know, so do you, I love the vintage look—so classy!” she said in a rush, “Hi, Mr. Gold,” Ruby greeted him with a grin. “Mind if I steal your date for a minute? Girl talk!”

Gold’s eyebrow rose in amusement, but he bowed elegantly over his cane, “Certainly, I’ll see about getting us some refreshment,” he said softly squeezing Belle’s elbow before releasing her.

“I won’t be long,” Belle replied as Ruby pulled her away.

“Can I just say how yummy Gold looks in a tux?” Ruby commented slyly, “I mean, I’ve seen him in suits, but _wow_!” They made their way over to the table Emma and Mary Margaret were ensconced in with their handsome dates.

Belle just smiled and shook her head at Ruby, while turning to greet her friends, “Ladies, I have to say, we all look amazing tonight.”

It was the truth.  Mary Margaret was cool and elegant in a lavender empire-waist dress that fell in ruffles around her.  On any other girl it would have looked childish, but on Mary Margaret it looked romantic and sumptuous.  Emma was a stark contrast in midnight blue—cool and elegant.  Her dress was a one-shouldered affair that clung appealing down to her hips and then flared dramatically to the floor.  Its only adornment was the small cluster of brightness at the shoulder—a glittering brooch. 

“Belle, you look so pretty,” Mary Margaret sighed, “I just love that color on you.”

“Belle, darling,” Jeff snagged her from the side in a one-armed hug, “but where is your date?”

“He’s getting her drink,” Ruby supplied before Belle could open her mouth.

Belle laughed at Ruby’s enthusiasm as she took in Jefferson’s appearance, “You look dashing, Jeff.” He did, the outdated cut of his suit seemed to fit him and he was a perfect match for Emma’s killer style.

Jeff grinned, flashing a dimple, “Well, I _wanted_ to wear a top hat…”

Emma only glared darkly before sipping on her cocktail—clearly this was an argument she was not going to get dragged into (again).

As Belle laughed, Gold approached the laughing group with a mask of indifference on his face—something Belle had learned he wore when he was feeling unsure of himself. “Nick,” she accepted the fluted glass of champagne from him, and slipped her arm through his again, “you know everyone, I think?”

To her friends’ credit, none of them gave away their shock at hearing Gold’s first name—Mary Margaret had been convinced his first name was “Mister.” Instead, as carefully as they could, they invited him into their small circle of friends with warmth. Belle could only smile, knowing they welcomed him for her sake, and kept stealing glances at Gold who was sitting as though he expected someone to play a prank on him. It helped that Archie, Jefferson, and Leroy were also trying to find their balance in the circle of girls—and trying to follow the convoluted flow of conversation.  Their awkwardness helped ease some of the tension from Gold’s smile, and Belle watched as he slowly started to relax. Before Belle knew it, they had gotten through dinner, and Belle was slightly dizzy on her third glass of champagne.

Mayor Mills made her grand entrance at the point, and Belle had to stifle a groan.  She knew the mayor was bound to talk sooner or later—it was her party, after all—but she wasn’t looking forward to any speeches.  “I want to thank you all for coming out to support my term as mayor,” she waved to everyone. 

 _Say what you want about Regina,_ Belle mused, _she knew how to talk to a crowd._ It didn’t hurt that the mayor was dressed to kill in a flowing dress so black it looked as though it was actively swallowing the light in the room. It was of a classic bell-like design and made her seem much larger than she actually was—it would also keep all dance partners at least an arm’s length away all night, Belle realized with a pang.  No one would be holding the mayor close tonight by Regina’s own design; Belle wondered why the mayor wouldn’t want anyone that close. It made Regina pitiable in Belle’s eyes, but Belle still didn’t like the mayor much.

“So, I hope you all enjoy the music, and start dancing,” the mayor concluded.  “Our very own Astrid Faye will be singing with the orchestra tonight,” the mayor introduced a very slender, brown-haired woman who waved from the stage next to the conductor.

Belle frowned, _I thought Astrid was a nun?_

“Apparently the former novice had a change of heart,” Gold murmured in Belle’s ear.

“I guess so,” Belle whispered back, Gold’s warm breath against her ear making her shiver.

“Cold, dearie?” Gold asked, his breath making another chill slide down her spine.

“Um, don’t worry, I’ll warm up once the dancing starts,” Belle replied when her brain could function again. Gold’s chuckle only convinced her that he was breathing in her ear on purpose—not that she was enjoying it.

As the orchestra struck up a lively tune, people started filing out onto the dance floor in pairs, including everyone at their table.  Gold looked uneasily at Belle, “I—uh—I don’t know this song,” he said carefully.

Belle realized the upbeat tempo—while thrilling—would most likely be impossible for Gold to dance with his leg.  “I’m a little dizzy,” she called to her friends who were beckoning her to the dance floor.  She pointed at her empty champagne flute, “Too much, too fast,” she explained, sitting back down. Her friends laughed at her, shaking their heads as they strolled out onto the floor.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Gold looked down guiltily. “You could have danced with the others.”

“If someone else asks me, I’ll dance,” Belle smiled, but placed one hand on Gold’s leg and gave it a small squeeze, “but I came with _you_ ,” she said simply.

Gold smiled, as though infinitely pleased by what Belle had said, and they smiled at one another.  They watched as the other dancers whirled around the floor in simple dances that had been performed down through time—and Belle wondered for a second how her feet knew the rhythm of these dances.  These weren’t like the dances in high school where the music had been elemental and beat-driven—exciting and causing one’s body to just move.  These were all ballroom dances; people took special lessons for these dances nowadays, no one was just taught them anymore. The thought made a blinding pain shoot across her temple.

 _Uh, that’s enough champagne_ , she decided, turning her mind to other thoughts.

Two dances later, David Nolan made his way over to Belle. He looked very nice in his tuxedo, but Belle could see the shadows around his eyes.  A quick check around had confirmed that David had not attended the ball with anyone else after Mary Margaret had turned him down.

 _Uh oh,_ Belle thought.

David sketched a terrible bow and Belle laughed.  Eyes twinkling in amusement, he held out his hand, “May I have this dance?” he asked smiling.

Belle glanced over at Gold, he did not appear amused at David’s antics, but he shrugged at her.

“Are you sure?” Belle asked lowly in his ear.

“You don’t need my permission, go on, I know you want to dance,” Gold waved her to the floor.

Belle’s face lit up, “I’ll be right back,” she assured Gold as David led her onto the dance floor.

 “The orchestra is really good,” Belle commented as David and she sped through the dance.

David, who was looking over the crowd, was distracted as he answered, “Oh yea, they’re great.”

Glancing in the direction that David was looking, Belle suddenly saw his plan.  David lined Belle up next to Mary Margaret and Leroy (who while dancing enthusiastically, was not dancing very well).

“May I cut in?” David asked as he smoothly grasped Mary Margaret’s hands and deposited Belle into Leroy’s grasp.

“Uh, sure?” Leroy said without much response from Mary Margaret or David as they twirled away glaring at each other. The gruff man turned back to Belle, “Hey, sister.”

“Hi Leroy,” Belle said smiling, “I think we’ve been duped.”

Leroy shrugged, “Music’s good though.”

“Yes it is,” Belle laughed at Leroy’s stilted conversation.  She really did like the gruff man, and he seemed just a shade more respectable in his tux—Belle decided to enjoy the dance.

The song changed—a lovely bouncing melody—and Astrid approached the microphone.  To Belle’s delight, the former nun’s fragile appearance hid a rather sexy, throaty singing voice that was smooth as honey.

“Wow, her voice is great,” Belle said staring at the young singer as she and Leroy continued to dance. When Leroy didn’t respond, Belle looked back at her partner only to see Leroy’s thunderstruck expression.  “Leroy?” Belle tapped him on the shoulder.

“Mmmm?” The burly man was staring dreamily at the singer, turning his head to follow her with his gaze as he and Belle kept dancing.

Belle felt her lips quirk, “She’s pretty too.”

“Beautiful,” Leroy breathed.

Belle sighed; well at least she had gotten to dance—even if both her partners were so obviously interested in someone else. As the song ended, Leroy escorted Belle back to the table, and left her to Gold as he tried to position himself somewhere Astrid would notice him.

“Having a good time?” Gold asked, handing her a glass of punch.

Belle smiled, “Yes, I am,” and began sipping her punch when the pianist struck a few familiar chords, slowing the tempo “is that?” she gasped, sitting up straighter, “Oh I _love_ this song!” she exclaimed.

The dancers on the floor began swaying to the slower beat, twirling around elegantly in a waltz as Astrid began singing out the melody. Gold watched as Belle’s whole being changed as she swayed, happily lost in the music.  Gold judged the beat to be slow enough for his damned leg, and just looking at Belle’s face lit up with joy at the song was enough to bolster his courage. “Milady,” he addressed her as he would have in their old world, holding out his hand in an ancient courtly gestured.

Belle, charmed, took his hand as they made their way to the floor.

_Heart beats fast_

_Colors and promises_

_How to be brave?_

_How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?_

Gold nearly stopped in his tracks when he heard those lyrics—Gods, he had never been a fan of current popular music, but this piece seemed to be speaking specifically to him and the woman he had lost so long ago.

_But watching you stand alone_

_All of my doubt_

_Suddenly goes away somehow_

_One step closer…_

 

Just as Astrid began singing the chorus, Gold swept Belle onto the dance floor, his limp almost indistinguishable in the swinging steps of a waltz as they twirled on the floor.

 

_I have died everyday waiting for you_

_Darlin' don't be afraid_

_I have loved you for a Thousand years_

_I'll love you for a Thousand more_

Gold moved Belle closer into his arms, his cheek resting against her hair as they whirled in time with the music.  He had loved Belle for a lifetime—what was a thousand more years?

 

_Time stands still_

_Beauty in all she is_

_I will be brave_

_I will not let anything_

_Take away_

_What's standing in front of me_

_Every breath,_

_Every hour has come to this_

_One step closer…_

 

                Gold tightened his arms around Belle on the line “Beauty in all she is,” knowing that their story was told as “Beauty and the Beast” in this world. It had never been truer, his Belle was so achingly beautiful and her trust in him—the old beast—was declared as Belle’s body pressed against his, moving with him like they were one person, anticipating his steps as he led her—her trust implied through the grace of their movement. He would not let anything take her away again, she was his, and he could be brave for his Belle.

 

                XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

               

                Belle was being swept up in the romance of the song—and Astrid’s wonderful rendition of it. The gorgeous song was touching her very soul tonight.  Her stomach fluttered as Gold’s deceptively strong arms swept her along—she was amazed he was so agile as their feet fairly flew across the wooden floor.

When his grip changed, Belle whirled, her back to his front, and she tingled all over as he all but spooned with her as they continued to fly.

               

                As the chorus floated back around them, Belle’s bones nearly melted as Gold began crooning the lyrics softly in her ear—just for her.

               

         _I have died everyday waiting for you_

_Darlin' don't be afraid_

_I have loved you for a Thousand years_

_I'll love you for a Thousand more_

 

                As the chorus ended, Belle felt him leave her back, the cold air making her shiver as he held her right hand and twirled her under his arm. Belle felt weightless and breathless, and met Gold’s eyes as he pulled her back into his embrace, face-to-face this time.

               

                _And all along I believed_

_I would find you_

_Time has brought_

_Your heart to me_

_I have loved you for a_

_Thousand years_

_I'll love you for a_

_Thousand more_

 

“I would find you”—Belle felt the impact of those words somewhere inside her.  Was it in her heart, her soul, or some memory dredged up from her mind? How long had she been waiting for Gold to find her? How long had she been searching for him?

 

_One step closer_

_One step closer_

 

                Belle didn’t know if she could get physically closer to Gold, but she was willing to try as they continued to sway.  Was there anyone even on the dance floor with them? Did it matter? They were the only two people in the world as far as she was concerned.

 

                _I have died everyday waiting for you_

_Darlin' don't be afraid_

_I have loved you for a Thousand years_

_I'll love you for a Thousand more_

 

Gold leaned over, pressing his cheek against Belle’s and whispering his feelings into her ear. Belle’s eyes flew wide, her lips quivering—had she heard him correctly? He tightened his arms around her when she tried to see his face, as his breath hitched, “I do—I love you, Belle.”

 

_And all along I believed_

_I would find you_

_Time has brought_

_Your heart to me_

_I have loved you for a_

_Thousand years_

_I'll love you for a_

_Thousand more_

 

                Belle pulled back as the song faded into chords, and the rest of the crowd of dancers turned toward the stage to applaud.  Belle searched Gold’s hazel eyes, and what she saw there completely undid her. She felt a single tear roll down her cheek as she grabbed Gold and melded their mouths together, pressing herself against him.  When they finally broke apart, the people around them blatantly staring, Belle smiled into Gold’s eyes, “I don’t want to dance anymore,” she whispered and tugged a speechless Gold toward the door.

 

                XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

 

                They were in the back of the town car when Gold turned to her, “Where do you want to go?”

                Belle bit her bottom lip, “I don’t want to go home yet; I’m not ready for the evening to end.”

                Gold smiled; his whole face relaxing into the expression.  He leaned forward and gave quick instructions to the driver. In all of ten minutes, they pulled up in front of Gold’s huge Victorian house. Gold practically leapt from the car to open Belle’s door and offer his hand for her. Belle tried to calm her jumpy nerves as they ascended his front porch and entered his home.

                Once inside, they stopped and stared awkwardly at each other. Belle could still feel the magic of that one dance still humming in her veins, but she wasn’t sure how to approach Gold.  He seemed to sense her unease for he grunted, shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket, took her wrap, and hung them both up on the hangers by the door.  “Welcome to my home,” he said softly, guiding her around in the soft lights of the antique lamps. 

                “It’s … very impressive,” Belle said honestly.  The house was beautiful, certainly, but the size and scope of objects held within the house let everyone know exactly how wealthy Gold was. This was a house that was meant to intimidate guests not necessarily to welcome them.

                Gold chuckled, “Suits me,” he shrugged. He gestured awkwardly toward the kitchen, “Would you like something to drink?”

                “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Belle said softly as she walked around exploring.  When she reached the large living room with an even larger fireplace, she stopped.  There were pictures on the mantel. One picture was old and grainy, but it showed a much younger Gold squeezing a small boy with an unruly mop of dark brown hair.  They were both smiling.

                Gold sidled up to her, handing her a tumbler of scotch, nodding at the picture, “That’s my son.”

                Belle was moved by the confession—finally something she hadn’t had to pull out of him, “He has your eyes.”

                Gold’s smile was tinged with sadness, “Luckily that’s all he has of mine—though he did have the occasional moment of temper.”

                Belle laughed, looking at Gold in the soft light.  She sipped the scotch, letting the fiery liquid burn its way to her stomach. 

                They stood looking at each other for a long moment, each realizing that their relationship was no longer in its strange stalemate, each also realizing that if they took that last step there was no going back.  Belle suddenly realized she didn’t want to be Gold’s friend any longer; she wanted far more than that. Belle set her drink deliberately down on the mantel and held out her hand to him, allowing him to twine his fingers with hers and pull her closer. Belle wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned into Gold as his hands splayed on her back. Belle tipped her face back, silently begging Gold to kiss her. Bending down, he obliged her, using his tongue to caress hers.

                The intensity of the kiss promised so much more, and Belle pulled back to look into Gold’s eyes, “Upstairs?” She wasn’t sure why she was speaking so quietly, except that she didn’t want to break the magic she was feeling in the moment.

                Gold nodded woodenly and held her hand as they walked upstairs.

                XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                Gold couldn’t believe this was happening.  Belle was in his bedroom.  What was he going to do about that?  Oh, he knew what he wanted to do about that—but it had been a (Gods help him) few decades since he had done this.  He wanted to do it right.

                “Are you sure?” Gold murmured as he pulled Belle into his embrace, “We don’t have to—I mean—“

                Belle silenced him with a kiss, “I’m sure.” She began unbuttoning his vest and loosening his tie, her kisses becoming more eager as each piece of his clothing was landing in a heap at their feet.

                Gold continued reacquainting himself with Belle’s flavor, placing kisses along her jawline and down her neck—gently scraping his teeth over her pulse point to feel it leap beneath his ministrations. His hands fumbled at the back of her dress, but he couldn’t locate a zipper or a button or—

                “Zipper’s on the side,” Belle said, her breathing heavy, “here,” she pulled the hidden zipper on her left side, and slipped the golden confection she was wearing off to puddle on the floor. 

                Gold felt his jaw drop completely open. He stepped back to see Belle clad in a white lacy bra that displayed her perfect breasts as though they were a creamy offering to the gods.  Her matching panties and (oh he was a dead man) garter belt made his mouth run dry.  The garters were holding up her stockings with matching lacy white clips that made her whole ensemble scream innocent temptation.

                “Do you like it?” Belle asked shyly.

                Gold could not manage coherent speech as all of the blood from his brain seemed to have dropped below his belt. 

                “I bought it to go with the dress,” she confessed, “and… because I hoped you would see me in it,” she blushed and Gold watched the blush spread from her cheeks to her breasts. 

                He needed to touch her more than he needed oxygen.  Gold crashed his mouth onto Belle’s, touching her everywhere. He filled his hands with her breasts, kneading them as she shuddered against his mouth. He picked her up and she twined her legs around his waist as he greedily squeezed her ass as he backed toward the bed.  When the back of his legs connected with the mattress, Gold rolled Belle underneath him and continued feasting on her lips.

                Reaching underneath her, Gold snagged the clasp of her bra, snapping it open and spilling her breasts to his waiting hands and mouth. She moaned as he dropped his head to mouth at her breasts, cupping one in his hand while he nipped and licked at the other before switching.  Belle quivered beneath him, arching her body against his, demanding his sanity. She curled her hands into his hair, tugging him back to her waiting mouth.

                “Oh Nick,” she murmured against his lips and the words sent a line of fire straight to his loins. He wasn’t going to last long in this condition, but he would not embarrass himself when Belle was quaking with needs in his bed. As his teeth nipped along her ear, he slid his hand down her body, under those flimsy lace panties.  He groaned into her hair as he felt how ready she was for him already—all moist heat and slickness. Her hips arched up as he cruised along her folds, finding the little bundle of nerves that had Belle making keening noises in the back of her throat.

                Gold kissed his way down her body, revisiting her breasts to lavish attention upon them, over the gentle rise of her belly and past the garter belt.  That’s where he encountered his problem. He really liked that belt and the stockings. A lot. But they were over her panties.

                “Are you really attached to these panties?” Gold growled at her.

                “Wha—?” Belle mumbled, opening her eyes, “Why are you stopping?”

                “These,” he grinned evilly as he gave her panties a playful tug, “you bought them for me, right?”

                Belle’s blush darkened, “Yes,” her whisper was hoarse.

                “Good,” he smiled again and ripped the panties off her—literally.

                “Nick?!” she exclaimed.

                He shrugged, “I wanted you to keep the belt and stockings, but those panties had to go,” he said playfully.  As they shared a laugh that helped to bank the blaze that had been threatening to overwhelm him, he grabbed one of her stocking-clad legs and proceeded to nip and lick his way up her thighs. 

                “Nick,” she panted, fingers gripping his sheets.

                “Hmmmm?” he teased, giving her other leg the same treatment.

                “Nick, please,” she groaned as he traced a small birthmark that rode high on her inner thigh with his tongue.  “I can’t touch you when you’re all the way down there.”

                “But I can touch you,” to prove it, he nibbled on her hipbone—she looked so sexy in his bed half naked and flushed with desire.  “Let me love you,” he murmured into her skin, kissing his way back down.

                Her legs parted for him and the sound he made bordered on feral as he caught the scent of her arousal.  He drug his tongue over her folds, lapping at her clit as Belle’s whole back arched off the sheets—she would taste this sweet.  Addicted to her smoky sweetness, Gold continued his teasing licks as he dipped two fingers into her—moaning at how tight she felt around his fingers. Her hips were moving, trying to find a rhythm to the friction he was giving her, and Gold tried to follow her lead.  Without much warning, Gold felt Belle come apart beneath his pleasuring, her inner walls gripping his fingers and Belle giving a choking cry that was music to his ears.

                Though she went limp for a moment, Belle fisted a hand in the undershirt he was still wearing and yanked him back up the bed to her lips.  Tasting herself on his lips, Belle groaned and began plucking at his belt.  Between the two of them, they managed to get the rest of his clothes off, his erection pressing into her belly as Belle kept kissing him.

                Belle tried to take him in her hand, stroking him, but Gold jumped back, “What?” she looked baffled and a little hurt, “Did I do something wrong?”

                “Wrong?” Gold squeaked, “Any more right and I’m not going to make it.”

                “Oh,” Belle bit her lip and looked incredibly pleased with herself.

                Gold settled himself between her legs, just nudging her entrance, when Belle wrapped herself around him, trying to be as close to him as possible. Gold pushed into her slowly, both of them moaning their pleasure, Gold resting his forehead on Belle’s, enjoying the feeling of being whole. When he had to move, he pulled out of her slowly, Belle whimpering her protest, so he pushed back into her as quickly as he could. They found a rhythm that pleased them, quiet and steady, sweat glistening on their skin, making them slide erotically against each other.

                He was so close he was shaking, but he tried to hold back, wanted Belle to find her release first.

                “Tell me,” she whispered in his ear.

                “What?” he gasped.

                “Tell me again,” she half moaned as he pushed into her again, his rhythm getting erratic.

                “I love you,” he whispered into her neck, “forever, I love you.”

                Belle erupted in his arms, taking him over the edge after her.

As they lie there together in the dark, spent and tangled around each other, Gold had the presence of mind to roll over, but he rolled her with him to lie on his chest. He wasn’t ready to let her go yet.

                He felt her kiss his chest and smiled contentedly. He was just on the edge of sleep when he heard her murmur, “I love you, Nick.” He pulled her more fully into his embrace, his heart actually aching with joy.  In the arms of his lover, Nick allowed himself to tumble into sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I also apologize for angst and general evilness... As always, comments (good, bad, and ugly) are always welcome!

Waking up in a strange room was a little disconcerting to Belle.  The first thing she noticed was the smell.  Her bedroom smelled of lavender and vanilla.  This place smelled like Nick—a little woodsy and something elegantly male.  The sheets were so soft that she was sure they were Egyptian cotton with a gazillion-and-three thread count, and the mattress was firm without feeling like she was lying on the floor.  Decadence—everything about the room screamed decadence. 

                Belle raised herself on one elbow while she watched Nick sleep.  His face seemed softer in sleep—more relaxed than she’d ever seen him—and his hair was a tousled mess from sleep and her fingers. The thought thrilled her as she trailed one finger softly down his stubbly cheek. She felt a little guilty watching him without his typical guard up, but as recent events had led them to bed, she had already seen him in other unguarded moments. 

                With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she realized she still hadn’t really gotten past Nick’s guard.  There was so much about him that she didn’t know.  She knew she loved him, and believed he loved her, but it hurt that she had fallen so easily for someone who was so determined to keep her at a distance. 

                _Well, except for in the bedroom_ , a snarky little voice mocked in her head.  Trying to dispel the vaguely uneasy feeling, Belle slipped out of bed and pulled on Gold’s discarded tuxedo shirt.  As her panties were nothing more than a few scraps of lace on the floor, Belle also grabbed his discarded boxers. Looking down, Belle thought about taking off the garter belt and stockings—but considering they were the only piece of her own clothing she had on at the moment, she left them on and stepped into a pair of slippers she found by the bed. As quietly as she could, she crept out of the bedroom and made her way down the hallway.

                She entered the tiny kitchen and put the kettle on for tea and contemplated her options.  She leaned against the counter, pulling the collar of Gold’s shirt against her nose and breathing in his scent.  Her eyes drifted close and she could hear that song from last night in her head.  Her eyes opened as the kettle started rumbling—she loved him.  So, she didn’t really know him yet.  She could get to know him. 

An idea occurred to her as she let the tea steep. Belle was standing in his house.  What better way to get to know him then to take a look around?  Not that she was prying, she assured herself.  She was investigating a mystery that she had a vested interest in.

                Holding her cup of tea, letting the warmth seep into her fingers, Belle strolled carefully around the first floor.  She started back at the fireplace, with the revealing picture of Gold and his son.  Nick looked so carefree in the picture—so happy—as he sat with the small boy.  His hazel eyes practically danced in the grainy picture. She blew on her tea to cool it as she turned in a circle, surveying the room.  There were other knick-knacks, but none as personal as the picture.  They had been chosen for their value as antiques rather than their value as mementos.

                Belle’s feet in Gold’s slippers whispered over the hard floors of the hallway as she crept toward the next door.  She discovered a small powder room and slipped inside.  After answering nature’s call, she examined her reflection in the mirror; she looked mussed, her curls rioting around her face, but her makeup had help up with minimal smudging, so that was something. A few finger swipes under her eyes had the wayward make up buffed away, but she wished for a toothbrush. 

Smiling ruefully at herself, she slowly opened the medicine cabinet (feeling more like a sneak and less like an investigator).  She did discover a spare toothbrush (still wrapped in plastic) and small tube of toothpaste, but since the cabinet was already open… Belle pulled a small vial of after shave out and sniffed it—smiling as the scent mirrored that she had sniffed on the collar of her (his) shirt earlier. She ran a finger down a softly bristled brush that had a few sandy hairs caught in it.  Curiosity tugging at her, she peered closely at the prescription bottle—not daring to touch it—she assumed it was for his leg, though it was nearly full and the fill date was old. _Stubborn fool_ , she thought fondly, _he’d rather deal with the pain then take the damn pill._ She closed the cabinet, brushed her teeth, and left the bathroom.

She continued her investigation by opening the next door and gasped in delight—she had found Gold’s library.  Now this was the best way to figure someone out, Belle decided, looking through his choices of literature. She murmured in appreciation at the wall-to-wall bookshelves that wrapped around the spacious room.  The curtains were pulled but she could see the beginnings of sunlight around the edges of the window.  In the gray light, she ran her hands over the spines of the books—lots of mystery novels, a few dusty tomes on antiques, and surprisingly a decent section on classic love stories.  _Hmmm,_ Belle mused, _Nick’s a romantic at heart._ She thought that probably boded well for a future relationship and smiled—just as her hip bumped into his desk.

Clumsiness aside, the desk was enormous so she would have tripped over it sooner or later. The old monstrosity made Belle’s organized soul cringe—it was positively covered with open ledgers, leather-bound tomes laid open on their pages to mark their places, scraps of paper, and other writing paraphernalia was sticking out of every drawer, nook, and cranny.  Almost overrun with the clutter, a snazzy-looking computer sat nestled among the papers, humming as her accidental bump into the side of the desk moved the mouse enough to clear the screen saver.  She shouldn’t peek, really, she knew that…. But she couldn’t help but see what popped up on the screen in front of her—right?

Leaning over, Belle scanned the page, seeing that it was Gold’s email account.  Knowing that this was crossing a line, she was about to turn away when a message in the inbox caught her eye.  It was a forwarded message from the same dating website to which Belle subscribed.  Abandoning the appearance of not-snooping, Belle sat at the desk chair—nausea swimming in her stomach. 

It couldn’t be—he couldn’t be. Sure, she had suspected, but she had assumed he would have told her by now.  Taking a deep breath, Belle opened the forwarded message and prayed.  What stared back out of the screen at her was one of her own messages to Cyrano—forwarded to Gold’s email address from the dating website.

Gold was Cyrano. 

“What are you doing?”

The tremble in the soft Scottish burr had Belle’s eyes closing, two tears sliding down her cheeks.  She took a deep breath before looking at him over her shoulder, out of the corner of her eye, “’It was you—‘“ she whispered harshly, her throat rasping out the lines from _Cyrano deBergerac_ that should be loving but came out accusatory, “’ It was always you….All those letters, they were you…. All those beautiful powerful words, they were you…’”

“—Belle” he began weakly.

“’The voice from the shadows,’” Belle turned in her seat, glaring, and raising her voice to a pitch that wasn’t quite a yell, “’that was _you_.’”

Gold hung his head, his sandy brown hair curtaining his face, his shoulder leaned against the bookshelf, gripping it as though he couldn’t quite support his own weight, “’No,’” he murmured weakly, pleading for understanding with his eyes, “’In fairy-tales when to the ill-starred prince the lady says, I love you, all his ugliness fades fast—But I remain the same, up to the last.’” He raised his eyes from the floor—his look full of longing, “Belle,” he reached for her, but she pulled sharply back, cursing while she stumbled out of the desk chair to glare at him from the opposite side of the room, “ _please_ , I was going to make you breakfast,” he tried to explain, “and then I was going to tell you everything.”

Belle felt the outrage sticking in her throat, burning like a hot coal, “Convenient to confess that now when you’ve been found out,” she hissed.  She wrapped her arms protectively over her chest, all too aware that the only armor she was wearing was his clothing.  She itched to shed the clothing like a skin that had become too tight, too close, for comfort. “You couldn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth, could you?” She began to pace a little in the confined space, “You’ve had _weeks_ to tell me— _weeks_ since we starting trying again—instead you tried to manipulate me like a piece on a chess board.  How dull witted you must have thought me,” she tossed her curls, temper adding a flush to her cheeks, “I’ll bet you had a good laugh over my ignorance. What was your checkmate move, Nick, you telling me you loved me so you could get me into bed?”

“That was never a lie!” Gold snapped back fiercely, “I have never lied about my feelings for you.”

“Why, exactly, should I trust you?” Belle’s voice had chilled to a temperature that should have frosted the air.

“Because—because you know me,” Gold nearly pleaded.

Belle actually found herself laughing, an awful, mean-spirited laugh that had her shoulders shaking and her breath sobbing; the laugh tasted bitter in her mouth, “Not true.  The only thing you have ever really revealed to me was your son—and even then it was only because you knew I was done with you.  You manipulated me with your son,” her voice dropped in volume but not in intensity, “I’m not sure it gets lower than that.”

An answering temper flared in Gold’s eyes, “Careful, dearie, we shouldn’t be discussing trust issues when I find you clearly trespassing around my place—in my personal email,” his voice took on a nasty sneer.  “You know what they say about curiosity and the cat?  If you didn’t want to know, you shouldn’t have looked.”

Embarrassment flooded her cheeks with scarlet, but Belle only lifted her chin, “You didn’t leave me much of a choice,” she bit out and stalked past him.  Over her shoulder she shouted, “It’s an awful feeling to have to search my lover’s house in order to get to know him.”

Gold was following her up the stairs and to the bedroom door that Belle shut and locked in his face, “Belle, you let me in this instant!” he growled.

“You won’t let me in, Nick,” Belle called out, “so I’m not letting you in.”

“It’s _my_ Goddamned room in _my_ Goddamned house!”

Belle opened the door, tousled hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail, wearing her dress from the night before (somewhat worse for wear considering it had lain crumpled on the floor all night) and stalked past him, “Don’t worry, I’m leaving.”

“Belle, wait,” Gold tried to level his voice, “I can drive you home.”

“Don’t bother,” Belle said, hanging her head while standing in the open front door, “I doubt it’s a mystery where I spent last night.” Shutting the door quietly behind her, Belle began a long walk of shame home to her apartment.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Regina was sipping her low fat latte, enjoying the brisk morning air after her triumphant ball the night before.  It had felt glorious to see all her enemies dancing to her tune, _celebrating_ her—wasn’t that just delicious?  Walking to the mayor’s office in the dawning light, she reflected on the little dramas she had seen playing out around her last night.  Snow White and Charming had glared daggers at each other all night, she chuckled to herself.  That grouchy dwarf had been making calf eyes at the fairy singer—but a little suggestion to the Mother Superior should have Astrid back in the convent without too much effort.  After all, when it came to keeping true lovers apart, her curse did most of the heavy lifting. 

When she saw the librarian walking quickly toward the library in (Regina’s eyebrows rose) last night’s wrinkled attire, she couldn’t stop the wide grin on her red lips.  The only hitch in last night’s celebration had been the obvious adoration Gold and Belle had shown toward each other—one little moment of happiness in an ocean of darkness her evening had created.  Apparently, judging by the librarian’s disheveled and disconsolate appearance, the curse had struck again. 

Regina had never really understood what Belle had seen in Rumplestiltskin—when the queen had abducted the caretaker, she hadn’t understood why Belle would continue to fight for that monster. Perhaps the curse was blocking the compassionate part of Belle’s nature, the part that had allowed her to see the redeeming qualities of the Dark One; and without that softer side to her nature, the librarian Belle couldn’t see the way to love Mr. Gold. 

 _Well, can’t hurt to add a little fuel to the fire_ , Regina decided as she crossed to Belle, “Miss French,” she called.

Regina knew she was probably the last person anyone in this town would want to see when walking home after a clandestine affair, but Belle straightened her shoulders and faced the mayor squarely, “What can I do for you Mayor Mills?”

“I just wanted to make sure that you’re alright dear,” Regina plastered an almost-caring smile on her face, “Gold isn’t known for being a gentleman, after all.”

Belle blushed and lowered her eyes, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Regina placed a friendly hand on Belle’s shoulder and gave her a sympathetic squeeze, “It’s not like you’re the first to get _gold fever_ ,” Regina hinted not-so-subtly, “But, don’t worry, he’s very discreet.”

Belle’s eyes opened to the size of saucers, “There have been…. Others?” she whispered miserably.

Regina searched Belle’s bright blue eyes, feeling a stab of pity for the girl.  Really, Belle had to have angered some deity somewhere to have the rotten luck she did.  Not only was her true love The Dark One, but her current incarnation was rather easily manipulated by her pride. “Of course, dear,” Regina said softly, shrugging her shoulders as if this was obvious, “I thought you knew.”

“No,” Belle whispered, “excuse me, ma’am,” Belle seemed to shrink in on herself, “I’m not feeling very well.”

“You should sleep, Miss French,” Regina nailed the coffin lid on Gold’s chances of reuniting with Belle with a saucy wink, “I doubt you slept much last night.”

Feeling as though she could skip down the street, the mayor continued her regal strut to the office, elated by the morning’s event.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long! My real life keeps getting in my way. I took a few risks with this chapter--so ALL reviews are welcome! Please, I want to know what you think if you've stuck with me this far!

Everything was going according to his plans—and yet nothing was really right. Gold had worked and plotted for longer than he really cared to remember: first for a way to get to this land without magic, then for an apprentice to carry out his curse, and also for a perfect pairing of True Love to produce a Savior who could defeat his curse once it was enacted.  It was the complicated work of his exceptionally long lifetime.

                He should be elated. He was going to be reunited with his son—at this point he could sit back and watch all the players on his marionette strings dance to his tune.  This little drama was going to play out exactly as he wanted it—all he had to do was watch.

                The only time Gold could remember feeling this miserable was when he had let go of his son’s hand.

                He had lost Belle. Again.

                No, that was unacceptable. He still had time before the curse was broken.  He still had time before she remembered how he had cast her out of his life back in their land.  After that—gods she wouldn’t even want to look at him, let alone let him explain. He still had time to prove his love to her if only… How the hell _could_ he prove his love to her?

                He was asking himself that question as he paced outside Belle’s apartment door. He knew she wanted him to let her into his secrets, into his twisted life, but how could she possibly continue to love him if she knew everything?  Wasn’t it really better to shield her from the some of the less savory parts of his life as long as it didn’t concern her? The clicking of his cane on the tile floor of the hallway was as rhythmic as it was maddening.  He ran a hand through his lengthy hair in frustration, hand gesturing in emphasis in accompaniment to the argument he was having with himself.

                Which was, of course, the exact moment Belle opened the door of her apartment; Gold inwardly cringed as he imagined the picture he presented—disheveled hair, hand hanging out in space as he was talking to the air, eye widened in surprise. It did help that Belle looked equally unprepared for she was wearing a worn pair of yoga pants, a stretched out spaghetti-strap tank top in faded pink (without a bra—great that was going to help his concentration), and an adorable pair of hot pink fuzzy slippers.  Her face was bare of makeup and her hair was pulled back into a messy French braid.

                They blinked at each other for a moment, when Belle straightened her spine and reached behind her for the plastic garbage bag, carried it down the hall and dropped into the garbage chute, all without meeting his eyes.  She was on the verge of shutting the door again, when Gold put his hand out to hold it open, “Belle—please—“

                Belle kept her eyes downcast as she interrupted, “Nick, I’m not really prepared for guests.”

                “—I just,” he stopped, raised his eyes to meet hers, and pleaded, “I just want to talk.”

                On a sigh, Belle stepped back and walked into the darkened apartment, leaving Gold to follow her or walk away.  Wasn’t that just like Belle?  Continuously opening doors—giving people the choice to be brave and walk through or walk away a coward?  She always saw the good in people; she made people want to be the best versions of themselves. He calmly cleared his throat and stepped over the threshold.

                The scent of cleaning was oppressive in the small space.  Lemony furniture polish feuded with chemical surface cleansers and he saw that her cabinets were all open as she reorganized the kitchen.  He raised his eyebrows—Belle had tried to lose herself in scrubbing down the Dark Castle whenever she was really upset. Apparently, that little habit had followed her here. “Spring cleaning?” he quipped.

                Belle had her back to him and was restacking her colorful dishes on the bare shelves, so her glare was aimed at him over her shoulder, “I’m rather busy.”

                “Belle—about yesterday—“

                “I don’t have anything more to say,” Belle cut him off.

                “—Well, I do,” he said softly, but with equal intensity.  The tension between them was suddenly palpable, like a cord strung between them was snapped taut.  Slowly, but very deliberately, Gold walked up to Belle, stepping close enough to feel the warmth her body put off but not touching her.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “that you felt that you had to delve into my private affairs to get to know me.”

                Gold watched the muscles in Belle’s jaw clench, “That’s the worst apology I’ve ever heard,” she slammed the cabinet door.

                “I don’t know what you want from me,” he said defensively.

                “I want to know,” she stated.

                “Know what?”

                “ _Everything!_ Everything you’re keeping from me. You’ve lied since the beginning of our relat—of whatever this is,” she turned to face him.  This close, the dark circles under her eyes looked like faded bruises in the dim light. Belle hadn’t slept well. 

                “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he felt himself leaning into her.  God, he could smell her over the noxious cleansers—sweetness and a muskiness from her sweat the effort of cleaning had brought to her skin.

                “No because you won’t tell me,” she flung the words in his face, pushing her face so close to his that he could feel her hot breath on his cheeks.

                “There are reasons—“

                “—which you won’t explain,” she cut him off. Her blue eyes closed, and she appeared to sag under a sudden weight.  “You’re breaking my heart.”

                Gold felt his airway constrict at the thought—he was making all the wrong choices again.  “Sweetheart,” he reached his hand up and cradled her cheek, thumb stroking her satiny skin, “you’re better off not knowing.”

                Belle’s eyes snapped open and glittered with a fierceness that reminded him of the keen edge of a blade, “You don’t get to decide that for me!” she exclaimed, knocking his hand from her face.

                Gold felt fear creeping up the back of his neck—he was losing her. The terror gripped him and he reacted in the only way his cowardly heart could; he used the fear to fuel his anger, “How can you be so brilliant and so foolish at the same time?” he snapped, “Why can’t you just _trust_ me?”

                “ _Trust_ you?” Belle echoed, her cheeks flushing with anger—and gods Belle was beautiful when she was angry.  She looked like an avenging goddess, “You have given me no reason to trust you!”

They were shouting in each other’s faces, breathing hard, and for some reason Gold was frightfully aroused by Belle’s defiant stance.  He dropped his cane and grabbed her shoulders, “I have given you _every_ reason that matters!” he roared, “I love you!” It came out as a verbal slap rather than a lover’s declaration and that was fine because he wasn’t in a romantic mood.

                Belle jerked her chin up, and he irrationally wanted to bite that stubborn jaw, “Prove it,” she challenged.

                Gold had no idea how it happened, one second they were screaming in each other’s faces and the next moment they were in each other’s arms.  This was not a loving embrace.  They were trying to consume each other—it was punishing and hard and darkly exciting. He slanted his lips over hers in a way that he was sure would bruise her mouth, and she responded by sharply biting his lower lip that ripped a growl from his throat. His arms raced over her body, pinching and gripping rather than stroking and caressing.

                When his fingers twisted her nipple through the fabric of her shirt, Belle’s head fell back on a strangled cry, and Gold took the opportunity to latch his mouth onto the tender flesh of her neck.  The purple mark he left on her clearly said what was racing through his lust-fogged brain as he drug her mouth back to his by her hair, _Mine—you are mine!_

He felt Belle twist her hands into the fabric of his jacket and begin dragging it off him. She hooked one leg around his hips and they ground against each other—he grabbed her ass and hoisted her onto the edge of her kitchen counter, rubbing his aching cock against the heat of her.  The mewling noise she made was all the assent he needed as he shucked the pants off her frame.  He nearly lost his composure when he saw that she wasn’t wearing any under garments beneath the yoga pants, and he yanked the fabric of her shirt down just below her glorious breasts—there was something darkly arousing seeing Belle half clothed and already wet for him.

                As he used his teeth to tease her nipples, Belle’s hands wrenched at his belt and flies, freeing his member and teasing him roughly in her hand as her other hand fisted in his hair to keep him at her breasts.  He lashed his tongue against her skin, trailing back up to her mouth, fusing their mouths together as he slammed into her tight heat. They’re combined moans rang through the small room, and they buried their faces in each other’s shoulders, wrapping around each other tightly—so tightly—as Gold began to move. 

                “Oh, harder, Nick,” Belle yelped in his ear, her hands reaching down to grab his ass and force his hips to thrust against her with more force. “Please—oh—harder!”

                Gold’s hips snapped against hers, her legs and arm pulling her against him as they pounded each other. In their frenzy, Belle slid off the countertop, but the force of their mating (for this was not lovemaking) braced her against the side of the bottom cabinets.  The change in angle must have hit some secret trigger within her because Belle erupted in his arm, “Yes! Yes! Oh, Nick!” she screamed as she came apart around him. Her scream sent him over the edge and he felt himself pour into her as he slammed into her a few more times. 

                Panting and more than a little stunned at what had just happened, they collapsed to the linoleum floor of her kitchen, landing in a sticky pile and slowly separating as they discovered aches that would be bruises before long. _What the hell was that?_ Gold wondered as he watched Belle struggle back into her yoga pants.  He adjusted his own clothing—though all he really had to do was zip his fly—and wondered if this meant their fight was over?  He doubted it.  That wasn’t make up sex; that had been something else entirely.

Belle had gotten to her feet and was standing with her back to him again, “How many others have there been?” she suddenly bit out.

                Gold straightened abruptly, having also gotten to his feet and was rubbing the stiffness from his bad leg, “What?!”

                “Others—women—how many others?”

                He felt his mouth flap open and closed, literally gaping because he had no words—what was she talking about?

                “I ran into the mayor yesterday—on my walk home,” Belle said slowly, her flushed cheeks going dark red in embarrassment at the memory of seeing Regina in her disheveled state. “She told me not to worry because you were always so _discreet_ in your love affairs,” she spat out the words as though they tasted badly.  “So I guess I’m just wondering if I’m in good company.”

                Of all the people for Belle to speak with about him, Regina was probably the worst choice.  She, of anyone, was aware of the toxic relationship with Cora and was probably aware of his shameful marriage with Milah as well (undoubtedly Hook had relayed all the sordid details). “What—exactly—did she say?”

                “That there have been others, but that you’re not known for being a gentleman,” Belle said quietly, her head drooped a bit and she closed her eyes, “Do you always hurt the people who love you?”

                The look of sheer disappointment in her eyes was enough to have Gold flashing back to images of Milah—the look of horrified shame in her eyes when he told her that he had crippled himself.  To the perplexed regret in Cora’s eyes when he didn’t understand why she had ripped her own heart from her chest. The worst memory of all was the anger in Bae’s eyes when Rumplestiltskin had let go of his son’s hand.  Fighting back nausea, Gold exclaimed, “Belle, did I hurt you? I thought you wanted me to…” he gestured desperately at the kitchen counters because he couldn’t find a term for the ravaging that had just taken place.

                Belle’s expression turned grim, “I’m not talking about the sex, Nick,” she said carefully. “I’m not exactly sure what lead to the sex, but I wanted it as much as you did.  I just wish it fixed everything.” Her voice hitched with emotion, “And you still can’t answer my questions when I ask them.”  Without another word, Belle walked into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. 

The sound of the latch clicking home was louder than thunder in his ears. He had lost her. Blinking the tears from his eyes, Gold limped out of the apartment in utter defeat.

                 XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                “So—it’s over?” Ruby asked cautiously as she hugged Belle’s shoulders.

                Belle lifted her eyes, still swollen with all the tears she had cried and said, “I’m just tired of fighting for someone who won’t fight for me.”

                “Me too,” Mary Margaret said softly.  Her already fair complexion was closer to waxy with her own grief.

                Ruby looked between her heart-broken friends and poured more of the tequila she had brought over into the shot glasses on the coffee table.  They were all situated in Belle’s cozy living room even though Belle desperately wanted to get out of her apartment. Ruby’s place was off limits because she lived with Granny—and Granny always looked disapproving when the girls drank.  Mary Margaret was trying to give Emma space to get her things packed.  Belle secretly thought Mary Margaret disliked that Emma was giving up the fight for Henry and was giving Emma the cold shoulder. Belle’s eyes wandered to the kitchen as she tossed back the liquor enjoying the burn as she bit into a lime—she could still feel the bite of the countertop into her back from Gold’s visit.

                Belle felt her fingers tracing the love bite that Gold had left on her neck—even though she had covered it with makeup, “So when is David leaving?” she asked as she drug her eyes back to the conversation.

                “I think as soon as he has everything packed,” Mary Margaret said softly.  Her eyes were focused more on the wall of Belle's apartment than her friends.  She played with the green jeweled ring on her finger—something she always did when she was upset. “He’s going to stay in the apartment Kathryn was going to use in Boston.”

                “Did Emma say where she was going?” Ruby asked she tossed back another shot.

                “Just away,” Mary Margaret said solemnly, sipping back the shot—always the lady.

                “Why is everyone running away?” Belle slurred unhappily.

                “Why would anyone stay?” Ruby asked incredulously, her words only slightly run together. “There’s no one who’s happy in this whole town! What’s keeping everyone here?”

                “Bad decisions,” Belle decided sagely.  “Emma has decided Henry is better off without her—“

                “David didn’t trust me,” Mary Margaret contributed miserably.

                “Yea and Belle and Gold can’t trust each other either,” Ruby pointed out causally.

                Belle spluttered, “Me?! He’s the one with trust issues!”

                Mary Margaret raised her eyebrow, “I mean—you did search his place…”

                Belle felt her eyes widen and her head swiveled back and forth between her friends, “Well, I admit it wasn’t my best idea… but you guys don’t think I was completely wrong do you?”

                “Well,” Ruby began and then fortified her courage with another shot, “It’s just that you have been complaining that he won’t trust you, and then you do something to violate his trust…. It just seems…” Ruby looked helplessly at Mary Margaret for help.

                “Hypocritical?” Mary Margaret suggested as kindly as she could. “Not that we blame you—but well, it’s just like you said—bad decisions keep pulling people apart.”

                Belle felt her eyes fill and she sniffed, “You’re right,” she admitted.  “I just don’t know what to do,” she cried and buried her head in her hands. 

                Ruby and Mary Margaret scrambled to put their arms around Belle, trying to comfort her as she began hiccupping. “Love shouldn’t be—this hard,” she managed.

                “You’re right,” Ruby said, as they polished off the bottle, “it really shouldn’t be—there must be something in the air in this damn town.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end! Love it or hate it, let me know!

The trick, Gold mused, to making people believe you were the all-knowing, all-powerful Dark One was not just having unlimited magic on hand, but also always having the most current information.  Gold had learned long ago that when one had all the information, one could plan for every eventuality—which was why his informants all over Storybrooke were well paid (in money or other vices) to keep him in the most current information.  True, most of the information they gave him was little more than second-hand gossip they had overheard at Granny’s (as he did some mornings), but sometimes, an informant did manage to surprise him.

                “You’re sure it’s Henry _Mills_ who is unconscious?” he asked carefully into the mouthpiece of his cellphone.

                “Unconscious and unresponsive,” the man muttered carefully into his own phone.  Obviously, the man did not wish to be overheard discussing confidential patient information.  “He came in about five minutes ago with the sheriff—she keeps claiming he’s been poisoned, but Dr. Whale can’t find any indication of the normal poisoning symptoms.  It’s almost like he’s in a coma, but there’s no discernible cause.”

                “Thank you, this has been very helpful—consider a month’s worth of your payments waved.  Though,” Gold added dangerously, “you are still in my debt, dearie—best not to forget that.” He hung up on the informant without another word and began limping toward the counter of his shop. 

                Henry Mills was in the hospital, supposedly poisoned, but without the symptoms.  It had to be Regina’s sleeping curse, but why she would poison her own son was beyond him.  Unless the poison was meant for Miss Swan—now that would make a great deal more sense—Young Henry was just caught in the cross fires of his two mothers. Gold dusted off the case that contained Charming’s sword; he was going to need to act quickly. 

                With any luck, Regina wouldn’t know what to do with the repercussions of her curse as she rarely planned ahead, and that would lead the two distressed females into his shop seeking assistance.  Granted, they really didn’t need his help. All it would take for the curse to break was a True Love’s kiss from Emma, and there was no stronger True Love than a parent’s love for her child (he should know).      However, telling them that was counterproductive to what he had in mind.  He would tell them the truth: True Love could break any curse, and that he had bottled some.  However, the details he would keep to himself. 

                _Belle wouldn’t approve_ , a small voice whispered in his mind, and Gold knew the voice was right.  Belle wouldn’t approve—but she wasn’t here and wasn’t likely to be once the curse was broken.  That was over.  He blinked back tears, and shook his head violently to wake himself out of his reverie. He had lost his chance with Belle, but he still had the hope of finding his son.

                The search for Bae was everything now, and Gold knew he wouldn’t be able to find Bae without magical assistance. Gold squared his shoulders and smiled as the bell above his door chimed and in stormed Emma Swan with a fiery blaze in her eyes so very suitable to an avenging savior.

                “Do my eyes deceive me, or is that the look of a believer?” he asked calmly.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                “Ugh!” Belle grumbled into the phone, “Come on, Leroy, pick up!” She was shivering in her coat inside the frosty library, and she was fairly certain that the cold was not good for the books. When Leroy’s voice mailbox picked up, Belle scowled, “Hey, Leroy, it’s Belle.  Listen, I think there might be something wrong with the boiler in the library.  There’s no heat on in here, and I’ve been hearing a lot of rumbling and growling noises coming from the basement.  If you could call me back, I would really appreciate it.” Belle hung up with a muttered curse as another wave of deep noises—they felt more like vibrations—rolled through the library. 

                Belle would be the first to admit she was not a handy person, but the realization that she had never even seen the basement of the library struck her as odd. What if there was a storage space down there? What if there were books in that space?  Deciding to look into these strange noises, Belle began looking for the door to the basement—except none of the doors in the library led downstairs.  How was that even possible?

                Belle was turning circles in the library trying to find another door when Emma and Mayor Mills (a surprising pairing to say the least) came striding into the library. “Emma!” Bella said in relief, “Do you know where Leroy is?”

                Emma frowned and cast a surreptitious glance at the mayor, “No, why?”

                “There’s something going on with the plumbing, I think,” Belle said, “I keep hearing all these weird noises, and I have no idea what could be wrong—and the heat isn’t working.”

                “I’ve—encountered this problem with the building before,” Regina said carefully, “I’ll contact Leroy and see if he can fix this, but I think it’s best if you and your volunteers shut down the library for today.”

                “Well, there’s only me today, but there’s no reason—“ Belle was incredulous.

                “Actually, the mayor has a point, Belle,” Emma cut her off. She held up one hand to stave off Belle’s protests, “If there is something wrong with—the boiler?” the blond glanced at Regina for confirmation, who nodded, “If it is the boiler, that could be dangerous.  We’ll take care of it; you should close the library today.”

                Belle was about to protest further when a noise that could only be described as a roar resounded through the library walls. She glanced, startled, at the women in front of her, “Fine, I’ll go, but you shouldn’t stay here either, Emma, if it’s that dangerous.”

                “The sheriff will check it out while I try to contact Leroy,” Regina said, taking Belle’s arm and escorting her from the library, “it’s a city building, so it’s our duty to take care of this problem as soon as possible,” she smiled venomously as she shut the door in Belle’s face.

                Belle’s face burned crimson with fury, and she balled her hands into fists at her sides, “Good luck finding the basement door,” she huffed as she stalked away from the building.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                He clutched the golden egg against his stomach as he hurried toward his shop, fancying he could still feel the heat from the dragon’s fire in the jewel-work of the container. The last words he had said to Emma while she was trapped in the elevator shaft kept ringing in his ears.  _Your boy is going to be fine_ , he had soothed.

                Henry would be fine, Gold assured himself. Emma had all the True Love she needed inside her—his potion was destined for other magics. He strode back behind the counter, snatching the key for the golden egg from a carefully concealed drawer.  Turning the key in the clever little lock, the hinges swung open without the least complaint, revealing the sparkling liquid preserved within the glass vial. He removed the vial from its velvet lining, twisting it in the light, after twenty-eight years inside the belly of a beast it still appeared as potent as the day he had combined the hairs of Snow White and her Prince Charming.  

                _Right then_ , he nodded to himself and tucked the vial inside his coat pocket and disposed of the egg-shaped container.  Bae was all that mattered, he reminded himself and walked out the back door to make the drive into the woods and face the well.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

                The door to Looking Glass nearly came off its hinges as Belle burst through it. Jefferson did not claim to be a mind-reader or an expert on the female sex, but even he knew the best thing to do when faced with a woman with a full head of steam was surrender. Holding his hands in the air, Jefferson arched his eyebrows, “I swear I had nothing to do with it!”

                “I should hope not,” Belle said through her teeth, pacing around the cozy furniture and snarling, “You don’t even know why I’m angry.”

                Jeff pursed his lips, “Judging from the direction you came and the time of day, I’d say it has something to do with the library,” he shrugged, “or Gold.”

                Belle threw him a warning glance and deliberately ignored the comment on her former lover, “Regina threw me out of the library—and Emma let her!”

                Jefferson raised one eyebrow, “Did they have a good reason?”

                “That’s not the point,” Belle muttered under her breath, flouncing around the room.

                “So as long as we’re not speaking logically,” Jeff said smiling, handing her a cup of chamomile tea, “Gold is still leaving you alone, right?”

                “I’m not talking about it,” Belle grumbled, sitting down on the white roses couch and generally looking miserable.

                “I think you need to talk about it,” Jeff chided. When Belle looked into her teacup as if she could divine the answers from the tea leaves, Jeff grabbed her hand, “Bells, what do you want?”

                The question came at a surprise, “What do you mean?” she asked, confused.

                “It’s a simple question: what do you want?” Jefferson’s smile was both tender and utterly sad. “But then how can you know what you want if you don’t really know who you are?”

                Belle pulled her hand out of Jeffs, “What are you talking about?”

                Jeff’s eyes had focused in the middle distance but he snapped back to reality, “Oh, nothing, just a brief flight of fancy.” As those words came out of his mouth, a pulse, like a sonic boom too low to hear but is felt rattling in the bones, tour through Looking Glass. It was an explosion of feeling, and Jefferson felt his chest flutter like it used to when Alice had given him _that_ look. 

                Belle lurched forward, gasping in air as though she had been holding her breath for years.  She looked around, and got to her feet gingerly as though she wasn’t comfortable in her own skin.  Her eyes met Jeff’s, and for the first time in 28 years, he was looking into the eyes of his real friend, Belle from the Marshlands.  “H-h-hatter?”

                “Belle?” He stumbled over to her, and grasped her by the shoulders, “You know me?”

                “You’re Jefferson, the Mad Hatter,” Belle replied quickly, the information flowing freely now.  “The curse—it must be broken.” She looked around, “Oh stars,” she breathed, “I have to find him.”

                As she fled the café, Jeff smiled, “Like I said, you know who you are, so now you know what you want.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                Gold felt the flash of True Love burn through him and felt a painful longing for Belle—that’s what the stories never told small children.  Love, True Love, didn’t always feel good because it was so big, so fulfilling, one was terrified to lose it; it would be like losing a vital part of himself.  He should know.

                _So,_ he mused as he limped through the trees, _I suppose I’m Rumplestiltskin again_. He rolled the name back around in his mind, reacquainting himself with his own name.  One thing that had been positive about Regina’s curse—no one ever had problems pronouncing “Gold.” He sighed.

                Now Belle would remember everything, and she would remember how he had failed in their old world, and realize his cowardice in this world. He spotted the well, and felt another tug at his heart. The well was supposed to return that which was lost.  If only it could return “who” was lost… With a heavy sigh, Rumple dropped the True Love potion down the well.  As the thick purple smoke rolled passed him, Rumplestilskin made a silent promise to his son: _I’ll see you soon._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                The memories crashed around Belle as she ran down Main Street past Granny’s Diner and the library.  Rumplestiltskin with his grey-gold skin and his dramatic gestures and his manic giggles…. Rumplestiltskin naming her as his price… catching her as she fell off the ladder… letting her go… kissing her… throwing her out… It was all so clear.  It was almost three decades ago and it felt like it had happened just weeks ago.

                Battling for room in her head was the cursed life and all the memories she had made with Gold so recently.  With the sudden clarity her cursed self couldn’t have achieved, Belle realized that Gold’s attempt to used Cyrano was his way of reaching out to her.  He still loved and wanted her—whatever else had changed, that hadn’t.

                “Rumple!” Belle yelled as she skidded to stop outside his shop.  The sign was turned to “Closed” and the door was locked.  “Rumplestiltskin!” she yelled, beating at the wood of the door. 

                Suddenly, a purple haze rolled through town.  Magic.  All of her time at Dark Castle had taught her the shocking sensation zipping over her skin was magic—and powerful magic.  There was only one person who could have worked that kind of spell here, and she knew just where to find him.


	20. Chapter 20

Rumplestiltskin leaned against the well and inhaled the heavy purple smoke, letting it sizzle in his lungs before he expelled the breath. The taste on his tongue reminded him of the harshness sea foam or the tanginess of air after lightning strikes—both powerful, unstoppable forces.  How he hungered for the full power he had wielded in the old world; yes, it was the power that drove Bae away, but Rumplestiltskin needed it. Being one step shy of a god was intoxicating and addicting. Twenty-eight years without really using magic had not dulled the anticipation of it, the thrill as it raced along his nervous system made his heart flutter and his breathing accelerate. 

                Rumple trembled as the part of himself that could access the magic, like a limb dulled and emaciated from lack of use, sparked back to life.  The air stirred his long hair as he flexed imaginary sorcerer’s muscles, trying to reestablish his grasp on the transcendent. Though he had been able to do small tricks in this world without magic, tapping into real magic had been impossible for far too long. _Best to start slow,_ Rumplestilskin cautioned himself.  He looked toward a small stick on the ground and raising his hand, he willed it to move.  For a moment nothing happened, and he nearly gave up in despair when the twig moved half an inch.  Rumple rolled his shoulders and glared down at the stick. He’d be damned if three-hundred-plus years of plotting would be unraveled by a piece of forest refuse. Centering himself, Rumplestiltskin threw his arm wide in a gesture of showmanship The Dark One would have recognized and silently commanded the twig to move.  It flew across the forest, halting in midair an inch from his outstretched palm.

                A cold smile lit Rumplestiltskin’s face; he crushed the twig in his deft fingers before moving on to more complex magics. Fireballs, simple illusions, conjuring large items out of thin air—all simple magic in his old world left him sweaty and panting as though he had raced through the trees rather than stand still. The price magic exacted in this world seemed much steeper than Rumplestiltskin remembered in The Enchanted Forest (of course there was the distinct possibility he hadn’t felt much through the scaly hide he had worn then).

                _One final spell, then,_ he decided.  He wanted to make sure he could defend himself later if need be and tiring himself out now could have unforeseen consequences.  Knowing that magic drew upon his emotions, he decided to conjure something that was tied to a strong emotion in order to conserve energy.  Closing his eyes he sorted through his vast expanse of memories.  His feelings for Bae were strong, certainly, but the pain of their separation had been tempered by time.  He needed something more immediate. 

Recognizing the inevitability, Rumplestiltskin called Belle’s face to mind.  Not just any memory of her face.  The way she had looked right after they had shared their first kiss in The Dark Castle, eyes half closed and a little dreamy—an expression of such sweetness on her open face.  The joy in her eyes as they had danced around the room at the Mayor’s Ball.  The horrified hurt twisting her features as she had realized he was Cyrano. Pain radiated from his chest, his throat closed, and tears stung at the back of his eyes. 

Opening his eyes, he waved a hand and a perfect rosebush in full bloom appeared before him in a burst of purple smoke.  Attempting to get his hitching breaths under control, Rumplestiltskin examined the flowers.  They were the same species he had given to Belle in Cyrano’s name.  The spectacular blooms were so deeply red as to appear nearly purple, their lush scent earthy and sensual, dew dusting them with brilliance so fresh they fairly sparkled.  Rumple silently cursed himself—he rarely saw himself as symbolic, but this rosebush was his True Love personified.  The Dark One and the fresh-faced beauty who had so utterly ensnared him— _in bloody flower form_ , he derided himself. Sneering at himself, Rumplestiltskin bared his teeth at the bush and it subsequently burst into flames.

As the thorny branches warped in the heat of the fire, he walked away from the well, only semi-satisfied with his current magical capabilities and even less satisfied in his soul.  He felt… unstable.  But then, what was True Love but a study in balance, the amalgamation of opposites? Seeing the rosebush in his mind’s eye even as he walked back toward his car, a line from _Cyrano deBergerac_ floated through his mind, _“That I should love? … I love… But I may love—and who?  Tis Fate’s decree I love the fairest—how were’t otherwise?”_

The fairest of them all—well, Belle wasn’t Snow White, and thank the gods for that.  No, Snow White’s True Love was Charming—an oppressively optimistic princess with a steel core tied to a shepherd-prince with a startlingly practical nature.  Balance indeed. 

No, Belle had refused to believe in his darkness of soul that so many other people, including him, took for granted.  Her beautiful soul and strength stabilized his twisted darkness and cowardice.  They were best together and weren’t ever going to be right apart from each other.  But then, he hadn’t been right for centuries.

 _How were’t otherwise?_ He silently repeated as he climbed stiffly into his car and began the drive back to his home.  He needed to rest and regroup.  And then he was going to find his son.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

                Belle ran the whole way from Gold’s Pawnshop to Rumplestiltskin’s giant house. Her breathing was coming out in sharp bursts and a stitch was knifing a pain in her side.  She ran up the front steps and knocked frantically on the door even though the interior of the house was dark.  “Rumplestiltskin,” she called to no avail.  Realizing he wasn’t home yet—but that he had to come home sometime—Belle searched for a way into the house.

                She circled around to the back gate and jimmied the latch open.  Pushing the large wooden gate open, she stepped into Gold’s expansive garden.  Though the weather was still too chilly for much of the garden to be in bloom, Belle could see many different colors and textures of green leaves beginning to bud—new life and new hope for Spring.  She ran up to the back porch of the house and peered through the glass panes in the door that led to Gold’s kitchen.  Everything was dim inside, and though she pounded on the door, no one moved inside the house. 

                Taking a deep breath, Belle turned the door handle and was surprised when it turned easily under hands.  Letting herself into Gold’s house, Belle looked around.  With her old memories back, Belle recognized many of the treasures from the Dark Castle; on the bookshelf in the hallway was the pair of puppets who had stared at her while she had cleaned, on the coffee table in the den was the old clock that had sat in the Main Hall, on the wall next to the mantle was a giant golden axe that had been displayed near the spinning wheel.  Everywhere in this house was the reminder of her imprisonment in Rumplestiltskin’s home—of all the times he had tried to push her out of his life while keeping her inexplicitly tied to him.

                The irony that Belle was once again looking around Gold’s house to shed a light on her muddled situation was not lost on her.  At least this time, Belle knew herself and Rumplestiltskin well enough to face what was coming—at least she hoped she did. Would he see her waiting for him as an invasion rather than an attempt to reach out to him? Trying to decide upon a strategy, Belle wandered back into the kitchen. That’s when she saw it.

                Her chipped cup.  Belle had to sit down as emotions overwhelmed her.  He still had it.  What did that mean? She cradled the tiny porcelain vessel in her hands as she sat in Rumplestiltskin’s kitchen and waited for him to come home to her.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

                Rumplestiltskin walked into his house, set up a basic protection spell, and breathed a large sigh of relief.  For the moment it seemed that the town had decided to place the blame for the curse squarely at Regina’s feet. At least that was his assumption judging by the size of the mob heading for the mayor’s mansion as he had driven through back alleys to make his way home—better to stay out of sight until everything settled down a bit. 

                Still feeling weak from his exertions in the woods, Rumplestiltskin made his way to the kitchen to try to find something to eat.  He took about three steps into the kitchen before he saw her. Belle.  Belle was _here_.

                “Your back door was unlocked,” she stood up slowly from the table, tucking her long brown hair behind her ears. Her blue eyes looked raw and wounded as she gazed cautiously at him, “I’m sorry for just showing up here like this, but I thought we should talk.”

                His voice felt like squeaky, like he hadn’t used it in a year, “Belle,” he rasped.  “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be with your father.”

                Belle felt a pang of guilt that she hadn’t run to her father when the curse broke—what kind of daughter was she?  “I had to see you first, Rumplestiltskin,” she answered. “I remember; I remember everything.”

                Hearing that name come from Belle’s lips cut him to the core—names did have power, he thought distractedly.  She remembered, gods help him; she was going to destroy him. He held out one hand as though warding off some invisible danger, “Belle, please wait—“

                “I loved you,” Belle replied carefully, “I offered you that love and you sent me away.”

                Rumplestiltskin’s eyes began darting around the room, trying to escape the brutal honesty shining in those blue eyes, “Belle, please—stop—“ he whispered as he backed away.  This was turning into one of his worst nightmares.

                Belle advanced even as he retreated, “You shut me out and left me alone,” though her words were soft there was an undercurrent of iron beneath them.

                “STOP it,” Rumple whimpered.

                “Did you know I was coming back to you when the Queen locked me up?” Belle confided as they continued the torturous dance.

                Rumplestiltskin shuddered to a stop, “You were?” His hazel eyes filled with tears that he tried to blink back, “She told me you were dead—because of me, because you had loved me.”

                Belle felt her resolve melt a little, but they had to have this discussion or they could never move forward, “Do you want to know what else I remember, Rumple?” Her forward momentum kept driving him backward until he had nowhere else to go—his next step would tumble him onto the sofa.

                Her pet name for him utterly undid him.  He collapsed onto the hardwood floor, his back against the sofa, his cane falling with a crack. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, Belle.”

                Belle knelt in front of him and gently tucked his shaggy hair behind his ear, “I remember chipping a cup,” she produced that cup from the pocket of her skirt, handing him the tangible proof of their love story.  “You kept it.”

                “I cherish it,” he confessed, turning his face into her hand and kissing the palm.

                “I remember you, in this world,” she whispered.  “You tried to reach out through Cyrano—I just couldn’t see what you were trying to do,” Belle said slowly. “I can now.  You weren’t shutting me out—you were reaching out to me in the only way you felt safe.  I see the goodness in you again, Rumple, and everything you’ve done in this world to show me the love in your heart.”

                Rumplestiltskin couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  How could this be possible? His heart began beating unsteadily in his chest.

                Belle smiled and leaned her forehead against his, “You’ve learned that denial isn’t strength—that shutting yourself off from feeling isn’t necessarily being strong.”

                “Belle, I’m not strong without you,” Rumplestiltskin looked into her eyes, clutching her shoulders to anchor himself.  “If I lost you again—“

                “It would be like losing half of yourself,” Belle finished.  “I love you, Rumplestiltskin,” she murmured as she pressed her lips against his. 

                The kiss blew through him like a tidal wave.  It wasn’t just any kiss; it was True Love’s kiss.  He felt whole, complete, content—everything he hadn’t felt since he had thrown her out of the Dark Castle.  Feeling the solemnity of the moment as they basked in each other’s presence, Rumplestiltskin borrowed one last line from _Cyrano deBergerac_ , “’My life, my love, my jewel, my sweet, my heart has been yours in every beat.’”

                Belle melted as she recognized the line, “Rumple,” she met his mouth passionately, throwing her arms around his neck.   He angled his head, tongue tracing her lips and slipping into her mouth with a delicacy that caused her to shudder. She responded by kissing her way to his ear and whispering hotly in it, “Show me, Rumple, love me.” They smiled together, kissing and touching as they moved from the floor up to the sofa.

                Rumplestiltskin groaned and gathered her in close, wrapping his arms around her as she settled beside him. Belle shifted in his grasp, eager and yet hesitant; she was stricken with a sudden shyness. Although she had the memories of their lovemaking, she hadn’t exactly been herself at the time—or maybe she had been a truer version of herself at the time—all the different versions of herself wrestled around in her mind. 

                Rumplestiltskin pulled back, searching Belle’s face when he sensed her hesitation, “What is it, love?”

                Belle fought down her nerves to answer, “it’s just—this is newer to me than it was—the last time.”

                When the realization dawned in his eyes, Rumple pulled further back to stroke his knuckles down her cheek, “Sweetheart, we don’t have to—“

                “No, I want to,” Belle closed the gap he had put between then, and leaned her head on his shoulder, “I’m just not sure how to… please you.”

                That startled a chuckle out of him, and he kissed the frown line that appeared between her eyes as she scowled at him. “Oh my darling Belle,” he grinned, “you please me just by your very existence.  Letting me love you—giving you pleasure?” His lips skinned her face as he spoke to her, sending shivers shooting down her spine, “That’s more pleasure than I deserve in a lifetime.” His breath whispered against her ear, and Belle made mewling noises in the back of her throat as he began exploring the skin of her neck with lips and tongue.

                Belle sighed, her shyness forgotten, letting her head fall back as his exploration continued across her collarbone. Suddenly feeling as though they had far too many clothes on, Belle began pulling at his clothing, shoving his jacket into a heap on the floor as their mouths chased each other.  Rumplestiltskin molded her curves against him, gliding his hands over every inch of her that he could reach.  Every action spoke of a claiming—a branding—they belonged to each other and no one would come between them again.

                As their clothes were flung from them, Rumplestiltskin cupped Belle’s breasts, glorying in their softness and bent his mouth to tease at her nipples.  Belle grabbed his hair, pulling him closer as his actions sent bolts of liquid heat through her.  Wanting to touch every part of him that she could reach, Belle began kissing and licking her way down his body, nipping with teeth any time Rumple jerked or gasped in desire.

                Belle paused when she reached his very erect manhood.  She cocked her head as she studied the male appendage. Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth, watching Belle studying him _there_ was unspeakably erotic. “Are you alright?” he asked softly.

                “It looks rather angry,” Belle commented as she tentatively stroked him. The only word to describe the sound that emerged from Rumplestiltskin was a growl.  Filled with a thrilling power, Belle smiled saucily, “Sounds rather angry too.”

                “Minx,” rasped Rumple as she ran her fingernails over the soft skin of the shaft.

                “Should I kiss it and make it better?” she asked innocently, leaning down to place her lips against the head.

                Rumple’s eyes nearly crossed and a fluent string of curses rained down on her head, but rather than be deterred, Belle was extremely aroused by his loss of control.  Taking him fully into her mouth, she tried to find the balance between licking and sucking at him. Rumplestiltskin buried his fingers in her hair but did not try to control her movements—he let her set the pace of their loving.

                Not that he intended to let her get away with tormenting him without restitution.  Picking her up so that she lay next to him on the couch, he slid his fingers down her flanks and delved between her legs. Belle leaned down to continue laving at him while his clever fingers fondled her.  Rumplestilstkin felt his excitement mount as the view from his angle was a very aroused Belle bent over his cock—and then he touched some secret place inside her that made Belle moan. Holy. Bloody. Hell. She moaned with him in her mouth—the vibrations only heightened the incredible pleasure she was giving him.

                “Ah, Belle,” he gasped, petting her hair, “Darling if you keep doing that I’m going to embarrass myself.”

                Belle leaned up and smiled, very proud of herself, “Really?”

                Rumple found an answering smile on his lips as he nodded. “Do you want to keep going?”

                Belle nodded, leaning her forehead against his, “Yes.”

                Another growl and Belle found herself straddling Rumplestiltskin’s hips, and as Belle took him fully inside her body, their groans mingled.   He ran his hands over her hips, encouraging her to move, to take her pleasure from him.  Riding astride him, Belle found a rhythm and an angle that caused waves of need to break over her and caused Rumple’s hips to piston against her.  With a strangled cry, Belle wrapped her arms around Rumple and shook as she found her release pulling him over the edge with her as they collapsed, spent, against each other.

                Rumple murmured loving phrases into her hair as they slowly came back to themselves. Rather than untangle themselves, the two lovers clung more fiercely to each other as their bodies cooled.  Tomorrow was soon enough to face whatever was waiting for them.  Tonight—tonight was theirs to cement their love before the rest of the world and their newly uncursed problems came calling.  After all, there were always deals to be made. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After much discussion with my beta readers, I've decided to add an epilogue--there will be one more girl talk scene! That should be up with in a few days.


	21. Epilogue

Epilogue:

                 “Are you alright?”

                Belle looked up from her cup of coffee into Ruby’s—no, Red’s—concerned brown eyes. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

                Red leaned against the diner’s countertop and frowned slightly.  Belle reflected that leaning down in such a way was a purely “Red” gesture—Ruby’s scandalous attire had never permitted so much freedom of movement.  “I asked if you were alright,” the striking brunette repeated.

                Belle tried to force a smile, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?  We’re still in the middle of a full moon.” Though Ruby’s nocturnal adventures had often shocked Belle, Red’s double life as a werewolf was only a mild blip on the bizarre radar of non-cursed Storybrooke these days.

                Red smiled languidly, “I forgot how much fun running in the woods at night can be—but wow was it hard to get out of bed this morning!”

                Belle genuinely grinned back at the were-waitress as Mary Margaret and David—ugh, Snow White and Prince Charming (she really needed to get a better handle on these names)—came into the diner. Since their reunion, the two lovers had been inseparable which was both endearing and a little discomfiting (Charming wasn’t super comfortable with girl talk). To give the prince credit, when he saw Belle and Red at the counter, he walked over to the dwarves’ table to give the girls some space.

                The air in the room seemed to tense slightly as Snow sat next to Belle.  Although the two women had been close while the town was cursed, they hadn’t actually known each other in the Enchanted Forest which made their dual identities both familiar and strangers all at the same time.  It was awkward. Then Snow’s horror when discovering Rumplestiltskin was Belle’s True Love certainly hadn’t mended any fences between the women either.  Although Belle did not require Snow’s (or anyone’s) approval, it still stung that her once-friend saw Belle’s relationship with Rumple as wrong on some very basic levels.

                “So,” Snow began as she ran her fingers through her fringe of black hair (Belle secretly thought Snow hated that Mary Margaret had cut off all her/their hair), “he’s really going to do this isn’t he?”

                Belle felt a momentary twinge of annoyance—why did everyone in Storybrooke refuse to call Rumplestiltskin by his real name like he was some kind of Dark One boogie man?  “Yes, _Rumplestiltskin_ ,” she purposefully emphasized her lover’s name, “is going to find his son.”

                “How is he crossing the town line and keeping his memories?” Snow asked carefully.

                Belle shrugged and pushed her coffee cup aside, suddenly turned off by her breakfast.  She didn’t want to keep secrets from her friends, but she wouldn’t betray Rumplestiltskin’s confidence either. “I imagine he’ll manage it the way he manages everything—with magic.”

                Red cocked her head to the side, “You don’t approve?”

                Belle was deliberately choosing her words with care; she refused to be dragged into another discussion on her friends’ opinions of Rumple, “Do I approve of his use of magic?” She made a helpless gesture, “It’s so much a part of who he is… and I don’t have to approve to support his decision to reach out to Balefire.”

                “But, he’s leaving you here,” Snow ventured.

                “Not my choice,” Belle returned shortly.  Honestly, did Mary Margaret—ack, Snow White—really think Belle needed a reminder that she was being kept safe in Storybrooke while Rumplestiltskin faced the dangers of the outside world without her?

                Belle felt a comforting hand squeeze her shoulder and turned to see Emma standing behind her.  “He’s waiting to say goodbye—outside,” the blonde added nodding towards the car parked at the curb. Of everyone in town, Emma was the only person who had not judged Belle for her love of Rumplestiltskin—something for which Belle was profoundly grateful.

                “I better go then,” Belle murmured, offering Emma her seat at the counter.  Before she walked out, Belle hugged Emma close and whispered in her ear, “Please watch out for him, and bring him home to me—with his son if you can manage it.”

                Emma awkwardly patted Belle’s back, “I’ll do my best.”

                Belle could feel the weight of her friends’ gazes on the back of her neck as she exited the diner.  She straightened her spine knowing that her love for Rumplestiltskin was not about to change, so her friends had better get used to the idea.

                She saw him leaning against his car, his eyes focused on the sidewalk.  The nimble fingers of his right hand were worrying his son’s ancient wrap and his left clutched his cane as though he wanted (badly) to brain a random passerby. He met her eyes as she walked toward him, one corner of his mouth twitching up, “Hey.”

                “Hi,” she took his busy right hand in hers, holding the wrap between them.

                His shaggy hair crept over his forehead as he looked down at their clasped hands, “Oh Belle, I do wish you were coming with me.”

                Belle leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes and breathing him in to imprint this moment on her memory, “I know, but it’s alright.  I’ll be here waiting for you—for both of you—when you get back.”

                “Will you?” Rumple asked vulnerably, his eyes searching hers as he pulled back slightly.

                Belle tried to reassure him with a smile; there was still a large part of Rumplestiltskin that did not believe that Belle loved him even after everything they had been through, “Of course.  I love you.”

                Rumplestiltskin pulled her into his arms, pressing his lips to her temple.  She felt him fumbling between them for a moment and pulled back to see what he was up to.  When she saw what he grasped in his hand, Belle nearly collapsed to the sidewalk.

                He slipped the sparkling diamond ring onto her finger and took a deep breath, searching her face again, “Will you?” he asked again—the emphasis much stronger this time as Belle realized he was asking her to share his life. 

                Belle stared down at the engagement ring with tears clouding her vision, “Rumple—“

                “Because I need you, Belle,” he interrupted, cradling her face. 

                Belle, as she always could, read between the lines.  He needed a family, a loving support system, even if Balefire wanted nothing to do with him.  “I’ll make you a deal,” Belle whispered, feeling inspired.

                Rumplestilskin was clearly not expecting that answer, “What?”

                “I’ll make you a deal—you stay safe and come home to me, and I’ll marry you,” Belle felt her grin widen.

                Rumple’s look could only be described as predatory, “It’s forever, dearie.”

                “Deal,” she said, triumphantly.  Rumplestiltskin snatched her into a fierce embrace and damn anyone peeping from Granny’s windows because they were getting quite a show. 

                When he pulled back from her, a little bit of the imp crept into his smile as he claimed, “The deal is struck,” and reverently kissed her ring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me! It has been such an amazing ride--as always, love it or hate it, drop me a comment.


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